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JAMES  OUVER  CURWOOD 


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5i 


PHILIP   THOUGHT   THAT   HER   EYES  WERE   LOOKING 
STRAIGHT   INTO   HIS   OWN 


FLOWER 

OF 

THE  NORTH 

A  MODERN  ROMANCE 

BY 
JAMES  OLIVER  GURWOOD 

AUTHOR  OF 
THB  DANGER  TRAIL. 
PHILir  STEBLB.  BTC. 


GROSSET   &   DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  ::  NEW    YORK 

Published  by  Arrangement  with  Harper  &  Brothers. 

Mode  ia  the  Uoited  State*  of  Aoenca 


nomiinirr  i»»«.  »^  harper  a  brotm«M 

I^MVfeO  W  THE    ONtTED    STATES  OF  AMERI«A 
MJBI.I«M«D  MARCH.    tOia 


SRll- 
URt 

5140350 


TO  MY  COMRADES  OF  THE  GREAT  NORTHERN 
WILDERNESS.  THOSE  FAITHFUL  COMPANIONS 
WITH  WHOM  I  HAVE  SHARED  THE  JOYS  AND 
HARDSHIPS  OF  THE  "LONG  SILENT  TRAIL."  AND 
ESPECIALLY  TO  THAT  "JEANNE  DARCAMBAL." 
WHO  WILL  FIND  IN  HERSELF  THE  HEROINE 
OF  THIS  STORY.  THE  WRITER  GRATEFULLY 
DEDICATES     THIS    VOLUME.     . 


Detroit,  michigak 

JANUARY.  1912 


FLOWER   OF  THE 
NORTH 


FLOWER   OF   THE 
NORTH 


"OUCH  hair!   Such  eyeal  Such  color!  Laugh 
Oif  you  will,  Whittemore,  but  I  swear  that 
she  was  the  handsomest  girl  I've  ever  laid  my 
eyes  upon!" 

There  was  an  artist's  enthusiasm  in  Gregson*s 
girlishly  sensitive  face  as  he  looked  across  the 
table  at  Whittemore  and  Ughted  a  cigarette. 

"She  wouldn't  so  much  as  give  me  a  look  when 
I  stared,"  he  added.  "I  couldn't  help  it.  Gad, 
I'm  going  to  make  a  full-page  *  cover'  of  her 
to-morrow  for  Burke's.  Burke  dotes  on  pretty 
women  for  the  cover  of  his  magazine.  Why, 
demmit,  man,  what  the  deuc«  are  you  laughing 
at?" 

"Not  at  this  particular  case,  Tom,"  apologized 
Whittemore.     "But — I'm  wondering — " 
J-:  His  eyes  wandered  ruminatively  about  the 
lough  interior  of  the  little  cabin,  lighted  by  a 

1 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

single  oil-lamp  hanging  from  a  cross-beam  in  the 
ceiling,  and  he  whistled  softly. 

"I'm  wondering,"  he  went  on,  **if  you'll  ever 
strike  a  place  where  you  won't  see  'one  of  the 
most  beautiful  things  on  earth.'  The  last  one 
was  at  Rio  Piedras,  wasn't  it,  Tom?  A  Spanish 
girl,  or  was  she  a  Creole?  I  believe  I've  got 
your  letter  yet,  and  I'll  read  it  to  you  to-morrow. 
I  wasn't  surprised.  There  are  pretty  women 
down  in  Porto  Rico.  But  I  didn't  think  you'd 
have  the  nerve  to  discovOT  one  up  here — in  the 
wilderness." 

''She's  got  them  all  beat,"  retorted  the  artist, 
flecking  the  ash  from  the  tip  of  his  cigarette. 

"Even  the  Valencia  girl,  eh?" 

There  was  a  chuckling  note  of  pleasure  in 
PhiHp  Whittemore's  voice  as  he  leaned  half  across 
the  table,  his  handsome  face,  bronzed  by  snow 
and  wind,  illumined  in  the  lamp-glow.  Gregson, 
in  strong  contrast,  with  his  round,  smooth  cheeks, 
slim  hands,  and  build  that  was  almost  womanish, 
leaned  over  his  side  to  meet  him.  For  the 
twentieth  time  that  evening  the  two  men  shook 
hands. 

"Haven't  forgotten  Valeaicia,  eh?"  chuckled 
the  artist,  gloatin^y.  "Lord,  but  Fm  glad  to 
see  you  again,  Phil.  Seems  like  a  century  since 
we  were  out  raising  the  Old  Ned  together,  and 
yet  it's  less  than  three  years  since  we  came  bade 
from  South  America.  Valencia!  Will  we  ever 
forget  it?     When  Burke  handed  me  his  first 

2 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

turn-down  a  month  ago  and  said,  *Tom,  yoas 
work  begins  to  show  you  want  a  rest/  I  thought 
of  Valencia,  and  was  so  confoundedly  homesick 
for  those  old  days  when  you  and  I  pretty  nearly 
started  a  revolution,  and  came  within  an  ace 
of  getting  our  scalps  lifted,  that  I  moped  for  a 
week.  Gad,  do  I  remember  it?  You  got  out 
by  fighting,  and  I  through  a  pretty  girl." 

"And  your  nerve,"  chuckled  Whittemore, 
crushing  the  other's  hand.  "That  was  when  I 
made  up  my  mind  you  were  the  nerviest  man 
aHve,  Greggy.  Did  you  ever  learn  what  became 
of  Donna  Isobel?" 

"She  appeared  twice  in  BurWs,  once  as  the 
'Goddess  of  the  Southern  Republics'  and  again 
as  *The  Girl  of  Valencia.'  She  married  that 
reprobate  of  a  Carabobo  planter,  and  I  behev?* 
they're  happy." 

"It  seems  to  me  there  wei^  others,"  continued 
"Whittemore,  pondering  for  a  moment  in  mock 
serioiLsness.  "There  was  one  at  Rio  whom  you 
swore  would  make  your  fortune  if  you  could  get 
her  to  sit  for  you,  and  whose  husband  was  on  the 
point  of  putting  six  inches  of  steel  into  you  for 
telling  her  so,  when  I  explained  that  you  were 
young  and  harmless,  and  a  little  out  of  your 
head—" 

"With  your  fist,"  cried  Gregson,  joyously. 
**Gad,  but  that  was  a  mighty  blow!  I  can 
see  that  knife  now.  I  was  just  beginning  nay 
paternoster  when — chug! — and  down  he  went  I 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

And  he  deserved  it.  I  said  nothing  wrong.  In 
my  very  best  Spanish  I  asked  her  if  she  would 
sit  for  me,  and  why  the  devil  did  he  take  that  as 
an  insult?     And  she  was  beautiful." 

"Of  course,"  agreed  Whittemore.  "If  I  re- 
member, she  was  'the  loveliest  creature  you  had 
ever  seen.'  And  after  that  there  were  others — 
a  score  of  them  at  least,  each  lovelier  than  the 
one  before." 

"They  make  up  my  life,"  said  Gregson,  more 
seriously  than  he  had  yet  spoken.  "  They  're  the 
only  thing  I  can  draw  and  do  well.  I'd  think  an 
editor  was  mad  if  he  asked  me  to  do  something 
without  a  pretty  woman  in  it.  God  bless  'em, 
I  hope  I'll  go  on  seeing  them  forever.  When  I 
ean't  see  beauty  in  woman  I  want  to  die.'* 

"And  you  always  want  to  see  it  in  the  superl- 
ative degree." 

"I  insist  upon  it.  If  she  lacks  something,  as 
Donna  Isobel  wanted  color,  I  imagine  that  it  is 
there,  and  she  is  perfect!  But  this  one  that  I 
saw  to-night  is  perfect!  Now  what  I  want  to 
know  is  this.  Who  the  deuce  is  she!" 

— "where  can  she  be  found,  and  will  she  sit 
for  a  'Burke/  two  or  three  miscellaneous,  and  a' 
*  study'  for  the  annual  sale,"  struck  in  Whitte- 
more.    "Is  that  it?" 

"Exactly.  You've  a  natural  ability  for  bit- 
ting the  nail  on  the  head,  Phil." 

"And  Burke  told  you  to  take  a  resft" 

Gregson  offered  his  cigarettes. 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"Yes,  Burke  is  a  good-natured,  poetic  old  soul 
who  has  a  horror  of  spiders,  snakes,  and  sky- 
scrapers. He  said  to  me:  *Greggy,  go  and  seek 
nature  in  some  quiet,  secluded  place,  and  forget 
everything  for  a  fortnight  or  two  except  your 
clothes  and  half  a  dozen  cases  of  beer/  Rest' 
Nature!  Beer!  Think  of  those  cheerful  sug- 
gestions, Phil,  while  I  was  dreaming  of  Valencia, 
<rf  Donna  Isobels,  and  places  where  Nature  cuts 
up  as  though  she  had  been  taking  champagne  all 
her  Hfe.     Gad,  your  letter  came  just  in  time!" 

"And  I  told  you  little  enough  in  that,"  said 
Phihp,  quickly,  rising  and  pacing  uneasily  back 
and  forth  across  the  cabin  floor.  "I  gave  you 
promise  of  excitement,  and  urged  you  to  join  me 
if  you  couTd.    And  why?    Because—" 

He  turned  sharply,  and  faced  Gregson  across 
the  table. 

"I  wanted  you  to  come  because  the  thing  that 
happened  down  in  Valencia,  and  that  other  at 
Kio,  isn't  a  circumstance  to  the  heU  that's 
gomg  to  cut  loose  pretty  soon  up  here— and  Fm 
in  need  of  help.  Understand?  It's  not  fun— 
this  tune.  Fm  playing  a  single  hand  in  what 
k>oks  Hke  a  losmg  game.  If  I  ever  needed  a 
Jfighter  m  my  life  I  need  one  now.  That's  why 
A  sent  for  you." 

Gregson  shoved  back  his  chair  and  rose  to  his 
feet.  He  was  a  head  shorter  than  his  com- 
panion, of  ahnost  delicate  physique.  Yet  there 
was  something  in  the  cold  gray-blue  erf  his  eyes. 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

a  peculiar  hardness  of  his  chin,  that  compelled 
one  to  look  at  him  twice  and  rendered  first 
judgment  unsafe.  His  slim  fingers  closed  like 
steel  about  Philip's. 

"Now  you're  coming  down  to  business,  Phil," 
he  exclaimed.,'*" I've  been  waiting  with  the 
patience  of  Job — or  of  little  Bobby  Tuckett,  if 
you  remember  him,  who  began  courting  Minnie 
Sheldon  seven  years  ago — ^and  married  her  the 
day  after  I  got  your  letter.  I  was  too  busy 
figuring  out  what  you  hadn't  written  to  go  to 
the  wedding.  I  tried  to  read  between  the  lines, 
and  fell  down  completely.  I've  been  thinking 
all  the  way  up  from  Le  Pas,  and  I'm  still  at  sea. 
You  called.    I  came.     What's  up?" 

"It's  going  to  sound  a  little  mad — ^at  first, 
Greggy,"  chuckled  Whittemore,  lighting  his  pipe. 
"It's  going  to  give  yom:  esthetic  tastes  a  jar. 
Look  here!*' 

He  seized  Gregson  by  the  arm  and  led  him  to 
the  door. 

The  cold  northern  sky  was  brilliant  with  stars. 
The  cabin,  its  logs  half  smothered  in  dying 
masses  of  verdure  which  had  climbed  about  it 
during  the  summer,  was  built  on  the  summit  of 
one  of  the  wind-cropped  ridges  which  are  called 
mountains  in  the  far  north.  Into  that  north 
swept  infinite  wilderness,  white  and  gray  where 
the  starlit  tops  of  the  spruce  rose  up  at  their  feet, 
black  in  the  distance.  From  somewhere  out  of 
it  th^e  came  the  low,  weeping  monotone  of  surf 

a 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

beating  on  a  shore.  PhUip,  with  one  hand  on 
Gregson's  shoulder,  pointed  with  the  other 
into  the  lonely  desolation  which  they  were 
facing. 

"There  isn't  much  between  us  and  the  Arctic 
Ocean,  Greggy,"  he  said.     "See  that  light  off 
there,  like  a  great  fire  that  has  half  a  mind  to  die 
out  one  minute  and  flares  up  the  next?    Doesn't 
it  remind  you  of  the  night  we  got  away  from 
Carabobo,  when  Donna  Isobel  pointed  out  our 
way  to  us,  with  the  moon  coming  up  over  the 
mountains  as  a  guide?    That  isn't  the  moon. 
It's  the  aurora  borealis.     You  can  hear  the  wash 
of  the  Bay  down  there,  and  if  you're  keen  you 
can  catch  the  smell  of  icebergs.     There's  Fort 
Churchill— a  rifle-shot  beyond  the  ridge,  asleep. 
There's  nothing  but  Hudson's  Bay  Company's 
posts,  Indian  camps,  and  trappers  between  here 
and  civilization,   which  is  four  hundred  miles 
down  there.     Seems  like  a  quiet  and  peaceful 
country,  doesn't  it?     There's  something  about  it 
that  makes  you  thrill  and  wonder  if  this  isn't  the 
biggest  part  of  the  universe  after  all.     Listen! 
Hear  the  Indian  dogs  wailing  down  at  Churchill! 
That's  the  primal  voice  in  this  world,  the  voice 
of  the  wild.     Even  that  beating  of  the  surf  is 
filled  with  the  same  thing,  for  it's  rolling  up 
mystery  ii^tead  of  history.     It  is  telhn^  what 
man  doesn't  know,  and  in  a  language  which  he 
cannot  imderstand.     You're  a  beauty  scientist, 
Greggy.    This  must  sink  deep." 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

"It  does,"  said  Gregson.  "What  the  deuce 
are  you  getting  at,  Phil?" 

"I'm  arriving  gradually  and  without  undue 
haste  to  the  point,  Greggy.  I'm  about  to  tell 
you  why  I  induced  you  to  join  me  up  here.  I 
hesitate  at  the  last  word.  It  seems  almost 
brutal,  taking  into  consideration  your  philosophy 
of  beauty,  to  drop  from  all  this — from  that  black- 
ness and  mystery  out  there,  from  Donna  Isobels 
and  pretty  eyes,  down  to — fish." 

"Fish!" 

"Yes,  fish." 

Gregson,  lighting  a  fresh  cigarette,  held  the 
match  so  that  the  tiny  flame  lighted  up  his  com- 
panion's face  for  a  moment. 

"Look  here,"  he  expostulated,  "you  haven't 
got  me  up  here  to  go  — fishing?" 

"Yes— and  no,"  said  Philip.  "But  even  if  I 
hav^-'* 

He  caught  Gregson  by  the  arm  again,  and 
there  was  a  tightness  in  the  grip  of  his  fingers 
which  convinced  the  other  that  he  was  speaking 
seriously  now. 

"Do  you  remember  what  started  the  revolu- 
tion down  in  Honduras  the  second  week  after 
we  struck  Puerto  Barrios,  Greggy?  It  was  a 
girl,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  and  she  wasn't  half  pretty  at  that." 

"It  was  less  than  a  girl,"  went  on  Philip. 
"Scene:  the  palm  plaza  at  Ceiba.  President 
Belize  is   drinking   wine   with  his  cousin,   th« 

8 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

fiancee  of  General  O'Kelly  Bonilla,  the  half  Irish, 
half  Latin-American  leader  of  his  forces,  and  his 
warmest    friend.     At    a    moment    when    their 
comer  of  the  plaza  is  empty  Belize  helps  himself 
to  a  cousinly  kiss.     O'Kelly,   unperceived,   ar- 
rives in  time  to  witness  the  act.     From  that 
•moment  his  friendship  for  Behze  turns  to  hatred 
and  jealousy.     Within  three  weeks  he  has  started 
a  revolution,   beats   the  government  forces   at 
Ceiba,    chases    Behze    from    the    capital,    gets 
Nicaragua  mixed  up  in  the  trouble,  and  draws 
three  French,  two  German,  and  two  American 
war-ships  to  the  scene.   Six  weeks  after  the  wme- 
drmkmg  he  is  President   of   the  Republic,   en 
facto.     And  all  of  this,  Greggy,  because  of  a  kiss. 
Now,  if  a  kiss  can  start  a  revolution,  unseat  a 
President,  send  a  government  to  smash,  what 
must  be  the  possibihties  of  a  fish?" 

"I'm  getting  interested,"  said  Gregson.     "If 
there's  a  chmax,  come  to  it,  Phil.     I  admit  that 
there  must  be  enormous  possibihties  in— a  fish. 
Go  on!" 
2 


n 

FOR  a  moment  the  two  men  stood  in  silence, 
listening  to  the  sullen  beat  of  surf  beyond 
the  black  edge  of  forest.  Then  Phihp  led  the 
way  back  into  the  cabin. 

Gregson  followed.     In  the  hght  of  the  big 
oil-lamp  which  hung  suspended  from  the  ceiling 
he  noticed  something  in  Whittemore's  face  he 
had  not  observed  before,  a  tenseness  aboul  the 
muscles  of  his  mouth,  a  restlessness  in  hia  eyes, 
rigidity  of  jaw,  an  air  of  suppressed  emotion 
which  puzzled  him.     He  was  keenly  observant 
of  details,  and  knew  that  these  things  had  been 
missing  a  short  time  before.     The  pleasure  of 
their  meeting  that  afternoon,  after  a  separation 
of  nearly  two  years,  had  dispelled  for  a  time  the 
trouble  which  he  now  saw  revealing  itself  in  his 
companion 's  face  and  attitude,  and  the  lightness 
of  Whittemore's  manner  in  beginning  his  explana- 
tion for  inducing  him  to  come  into  the  north  had 
helped  to  complete  the  mask.     There  occurred  to 
him,  for  an  instant,  a  picture  which  he  had  once 
drawn  of  Whittemore  as  he  had  known  him  in 
certain  stirring  times  still  fresh  in  the  memory 
of  each — a  picture  of  the  old,  cool,  irresistible 
Whittemore,    smiling    in    the   face    of    dang^:, 

10 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

laughing  outright  at  perplexities,  always  ready 
to  fight  with  a  good-natured  word  on  his  lips. 
He  had  drawn  that  picture  for  Burke's,  and  had 
called  it  "  The  Fighter."  Burke  himself  had  criti- 
cized it  because  of  the  smile.  But  Gregson  knew 
his  man.     It  was  Whittemore. 

There  was  a  change  now.  He  had  grown 
older,  surprisingly  older.  There  were  deeper 
lines  about  his  eyes.  His  face  was  thinner- 
He  saw,  now,  that  Philip's  lightness  had  been 
but  a  passing  flash  of  his  old  buoyancy,  that 
the  old  life  and  sparkle  had  gone  from  him. 
Two  years,  he  judged,  had  woven  things  into 
Philip's  life  which  he  could  not  undCTstand,  and 
he  wondered  if  this  was  why  in  all  that  time 
he  had  received  no  word  from  his  did  college 
chum. 

They  had  seated  themselves  at  opposite  sides 
of  the  table,  and  from  an  inside  pocket  Philip 
produced  a  small  bundle  of  papers.  From  these 
he  drew  forth  a  map,  which  he  smoothed  out 
under  his  hands. 

"Yes,  there  are  possibiKties  —  and  more, 
Greggy,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  ask  you  up  here  to 
help  me  fight  air  and  moonshine.  And  I've 
promised  you  a  fight.  Have  you  ever  seen  a  rat 
in  a  trap  with  a  blood-thirsty  terrier  guarding  the 
httle  door  that  is  about  to  be  opened?  Thrilling, 
sport  for  the  prisoner,  isn't  it?  But  when  the 
rat  happens  to  be  human — " 

**I  thought  it  was  a  fish,"  protested  Gregson, 
11 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

mildly.     "Pretty  soon  you'll  be  having  it  a  giA 
in  a  trap — or  at  the  end  of  a  fish-line — " 

"And  if  I  should?'*  interrupted  Philip,  looking 
steadily  at  him.  "What  if  I  .should  say  there 
is  a  girl — a  woman^n  this  trap — not  only  one, 
but  a  score,  a  hundred  of  them.'*  What  then, 
Greggy?" 

"I'd  say  there  was  going  to  be  a  glorious 
scrap." 

"And  so  there  is,  the  biggest  and  most  unusual 
scrap  of  its  kind  you  ever  heard  of,  Greggy, 
It's  going  to  be  a  queer  kind  of  fight — and  queer 
fighting.  And  it's  possible — ^very  probable — ■ 
that  you  and  I  will  get  lost  in  the  shuffle  some- 
where. We're  two,  no  more.  And  we're  going 
up  against  forces  which  would  make  a  dozen 
South  American  revolutions  look  like  thirty 
cents.  More  than  that,  it's  likely  we'll  be  in  the 
wrong  locality  when  certain  people  rise  in  a 
wrath  which  a  Helen  of  Troy  aroused  in  another 
people  some  centuries  ago.     See  here — " 

He  turned  the  map  to  Gregson,  pointing  with 
his  finger. 

"See  that  red  line?  That's  the  new  railroad 
to  Hudson's  Bay.  It  is  well  above  Le  Pas  now, 
and  its  builders  plan  to  complete  it  by  next 
spring.  It  is  the  most  wonderful  piece  of  rail* 
road  building  on  the  American  continent,  Greggy 
— wonderful  because  it  has  been  neglected  so 
long.  Something  like  a  hundred  million  people 
have  been  asleep  to  its  enormous  yalu£,  and 

1» 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

they're  just  waking  up  now.  That  road,  cutting 
across  four  hundred  miles  of  wilderness,  is  open- 
ing up  a  country  half  as  big  as  the  United  States, 
in  which  more  mineral  wealth  will  be  dug  during 
the  next  fifty  years  than  will  ever  be  taken  from 
Yukon  or  Alaska.  It  is  shortening  the  route 
from  Montreal,  Duluth,  Chicago,  and  the  Middle 
West  to  Liverpool  and  other  European  ports  by 
a  thousand  miles.  It  means  the  making  of  a 
navigable  sea  out  of  Hudson's  Bay,  cities  on  its 
shores,  and  great  steel  -  foundries  close  to  the 
Arctic  Circle — where  there  is  coal  and  iron  enough 
to  supply  the  world  for  hundreds  of  years. 
That's  only  a  small  part  of  what  this  road  means, 
Greggy.  Two  years  ago — ^you  remember  I  asked 
you  to  join  me  in  the  adventure — I  came  up 
seeking  opportunity.     I  didn't  dream  then — " 

Whittemore  paused,  and  a  flash  of  his  old 
smile  passed  over  his  face. 

"I  didn't  dream  that  fate  had  decreed  me  to 
stir  up  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you  about,  Greggy. 
I  followed  the  line  of  the  proposed  railroad, 
looking  for  chances.  All  Canada  was  asleep,  or 
too  much  interested  in  its  west,  and  gave  me 
ao  competition.  I  was  alone  west  of  the  sur- 
veyed line;  east  of  it  steel-corporation  men  had 
optioned  mountains  of  iron  and  another  interest 
had  a  grip  on  coal-fields.  Six  months  I  spent 
among  the  Indians,  French,  and  half-breeds.  I 
lived  with  them,  trapped  and  hunted  with  them, 
and  picked  up  a  little  Cree  and  French.    The 

13 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

life  suited  me.  I  became  a  northerner  in  heart 
and  soul,  if  not  quite  yet  in  full  experience. 
Clubs  and  balls  and  cities  grew  to  be  only 
memories.  You  know  how  I  have  always  hated 
that  hothouse  sort  of  existence,  and  you  know 
that  same  world  of  clubs  and  balls  and  cities  has 
gripped  at  my  throat,  downing  me  again  and 
again,  as  though  it  returned  my  sentiment  with 
interest.  Up  here  I  learned  to  hate  it  more  than 
ever.     I  was  completely  happy.     And  then — " 

He  had  refolded  the  map,  and  drew  another 
from  the  bundle  of  papers.  It  was  drawn  in 
pencU. 

"And  then,  Greggy,"  he  went  on,  smoothing 
out  this  map  where  the  other  had  been,  "I 
struck  my  chance.  It  fairly  clubbed  me  into 
recognizing  it.  It  came  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  and  I  sat  up  with  a  camp-fire  laughing 
at  me  through  the  flap  in  my  tent,  stunned  by 
the  knockout  it  had  given  me.  It  seemed,  at 
first,  as  though  a  gold-mine  had  walked  up  and 
laid  itself  down  at  my  feet,  and  I  wondered  how 
there  could  be  so  many  silly  fools  in  this  world 
of  ours.  Take  a  look  at  that  map,  Gr^gy. 
What  do  you  see?'* 

'  Gregson  had  listened  like  one  under  a  sp>eU« 
It  was  one  of  his  careless  boasts  that  situations 
could  not  feaze  him,  that  he  wa3  immune  to 
outward  betrayals  of  sensation.  This  seeming 
indifiPerence — his  light-toned  attitude  in  the  fac^s 
erf    most   serious   affairs   would   have   made   «. 

14 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

failure  of  him  in  many  things.  But  his  tense 
interest  did  not  hide  itself  now.  A  cigarette 
remained  unlighted  between  his  fingers.  His 
eyes  never  took  themselves  for  an  instant  from 
his  companion's  face.  Something  that  Whitte- 
more  had  not  yet  said  thrilled  him.  He  looked 
at  the  map.  ^ 

"There's  not  much  to  see,"  he  said,  "but  lakes 
and  rivers." 

"You're  right,"  exclaimed  Philip,  jumping  sud- 
denly from  his  chair  and  beginning  to  walk  back 
and  forth  across  the  cabin.  "Lakes  and  rivers — 
hundreds  of  them — ^thousands  of  them !  Greggy, 
there  are  more  than  three  thousand  lakes  between 
here  and  civilization  and  within  forty  miles  of 
the  new  railroad.  And  nin^  out  of  ten  of  those 
lakes  are  so  full  of  fish  that  the  bears  along  'em 
smell  fishy.  Whitefish,  Gre^on — whitefish  and 
trout.  There  is  a  fresh-water  area  represented 
on  that  map  three  times  as  large  as  the  whole  of 
the  five  Great  Lakes,  and  yet  the  Canadians  and 
the  government  have  never  wakened  up  to  what 
it  means.  There's  a  fish  supply  in  this  northland 
large  enough  to  feed  the  world,  and  that  little 
rim  of  lakes  that  I've  mapped  out  along  the 
edge  of  the  coming  railroad  represents  a  money 
value  of  miUions.  That  was  the  idea  that  came 
to  me  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  then  I 
thought — if  I  could  get  a  comer  on  a  few  of  these 
lakes,  secure  fishing  privileges  before  the  road 
came — " 

15 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

"You'd  be  a  millionaire,"  said  Gregson. 

"N^t  only  that,"  replied  Philip,  pausing  for  a 
moment  in  his  restless  pacing.  "I  didn't  think 
of  money,  at  first;  at  least,  it  was  a  secondary 
consideration  after  that  night  beside  the  camp- 
fire.  I  saw  how  this  big  vacant  north  could  be 
made  to  strike  a  mighty  blow  at  those  interests 
which  make  a  profession  of  cornering  meatstuffs 
on  the  other  side,  how  it  could  be  made  to  fight 
the  fight  of  the  people  by  sending  down  an  un- 
limited supply  of  fish  that  could  be  sold  at  a 
profit  in  New  York,  Boston,  or  Chicago  for  a 
half  of  what  the  trust  demands.  My  scheme 
wasn't  aroused  entirely  by  philanthropy,  mind 
you.  I  saw  in  it  a  chance  to  get  back  at  the  very 
people  who  brought  about  my  father's  ruin,  and 
who  kept  pounding  him  after  he  was  in  a  corner 
until  he  broke  down  and  died.  They  killed  him. 
They  robbed  me  a  few  years  later.  They  made 
me  hate  what  I  was  once,  a  moving,  joyous  part 
of  —  life  down  there.  I  went  from  the  north, 
first  to  Ottawa,  then  to  Toronto  and  Winnipeg. 
After  that  I  went  to  Brokaw,  my  father's  old 
partner,  with  the  scheme.  I've  told  you  of 
Brokaw — one  of  the  deepest,  shrewdest  old 
fighters  in  the  Middle  West.  It  was  only  a  year 
after  my  father's  death  that  he  was  on  his  feet 
again,  as  strong  as  ever.  Brokaw  drew  in  two 
or  three  others  as  strong  as  himself,  and  we 
went  after  the  privileges.  It  was  a  fight  from 
the  beginning.     Hardly   were   our  plans   made 

IB 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

public  before  we  were  met  by  powerful  oppo- 
sition. A  combination  of  Canadian  capital 
quickly  organized  and  petitioned  for  the  same 
privileges.  Old  Brokaw  knew  what  it  meant'. 
It  was  the  hand  of  the  trust— disguised  under  a 
veneer  ^of  Canadian  promoters.  They  called  us 
'aliens'  —  American  'money -grabbers'  robbing 
Canadians  of  what  justly  belonged  to  them. 
They  aroused  two-thirds  of  the  press  against  us, 
and  yet — " 

The  lines  in  Whittemore's  face  softened.  He 
chuckled  as  he  pulled  out  his  pipe  and  began 
filling  it. 

"They  had  to  go  some  to  beat  the  old  man, 
Greggy.  I  don't  know  just  how  Brokaw  pulled 
the  thing  off,  but  I  do  know  that  when  we  won 
out  three  members  of  parliament  and  half  a 
dozen  other  politicians  were  honorary  members 
of  our  organization,  and  that  it  cost  Brokaw  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars!  Our  opponents  had 
raised  such  a  howl,  calling  upon  the  patriotism  of 
the  country  and  pointing  out  that  the  people 
of  the  north  would  resent  this  invasion  of 
foreigners,  that  we  succeeded  in  getting  only  a 
provisional  license,  subject  to  withdrawal  by  the 
government  at  any  time  conditions  seemed  to 
warrant  it.  I  saw  in  this  no  blow  to  my  scheme, 
for  I  was  certain  that  we  could  carry  the  thing 
along  on  such  a  square  basis  that  within  a  year 
the  whole  country  would  be  in  sympathy  with 
us.    I  expressed  my  views  with  enthusiasm  at 

17 


TLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH' 

our  final  meeting,  when  the  seven  of  us  met  tat 
complete  our  plans.  Brokaw  and  the  other  five 
were  to  direct  matters  in  the  south;  I  was  to 
have  full  command  of  ajffairs  in  the  north.  A 
month  later  I  was  at  work.  Over  here" — be 
leaned  over  Gregson's  shoulder  and  placed  a 
forefinger  on  the  map — "I  established  our  head- 
quarters, with  MacDougall,  a  Scotch  engineer, 
to  help  me.  Within  six  months  we  had  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  men  at  Blind  Indian  Lake,  fifty 
canoemen  bringing  in  supplies,  and  another  gang 
putting  in  stations  over  a  stretch  of  more  than 
a  hundred  miles  of  lake  country.  Everything 
was  working  smoothly,  better  than  I  had  ex- 
pected. At  Blind  Indian  Lake  we  had  a  ship- 
yard, two  warehouses,  ice-houses,  a  company 
store,  and  a  population  of  three  himdred,  and 
had  nearly  completed  a  ten-mile  roadbed  for 
narrow-gauge  steel,  which  would  connect  us  with 
the  main  line  when  it  came  up  to  us.  I  was 
completely  lost  in  my  work.  At  times  I  almost 
forgot  Brokaw  and  the  others.  I  was  particu- 
larly careful  of  the  funds  sent  up  to  me,  and  had 
accomplished  my  work  at  a  cost  of  a  little  under 
a  hundred  thousand.  At  the  end  of  the  six 
months,  when  I  was  about  to  make  a  visit  into 
the  south,  one  of  our  warehouses  and  ten  thou- 
sand dollars'  worth  of  supplies  went  up  in  smoke. 
It  was  our  first  misfortune,  and  it  was  a  big 
one.  It  was  about  the  first  matter  that  I  brought 
up  after  I  had  shaken  hands  with  Brokaw." 

18 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Philip's  face  was  set  and  white  as  he  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  looking  at  Gregson. 
'  "And  what  do  you  think  was  his  reply,  Greggy? 
He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment,  a  peeuhar  twitch- 
ing around  the  comers  of  his  mouth,  and  then 
said,  *  Don't  allow  a  trivial  matter  like  that  to 
worry  you,  Phihp.  Why — we've  already  cleaned 
up  a  million  on  this  little  fish  deal!'" 

Gregson  sat  up  with  a  jerk. 

"A  million!    Great  Scott—" 

"Yes,  a  million,  Greggy,"  said  PhiKp,  softly, 
with  his  old  fighting  smile.  "There  was  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  to  my  credit  in  a  First 
National  Bank.  Pleasant  surprise,  eh?" 
'  Gregson  had  dropped  his  cigarette.  His  slim 
hands  gripped  the  edges  of  the  table.  He  made 
no  reply  as  he  waited  for  Whittemore  to  c<»itmue. 


m 

FOR  a  full  minute  Philip  paced  back  and 
forth  without  speaking.     Then  he  stopped, 
and  faced  Gregson,  who  was  staring  at  him. 

"A  million,  Greggy,"  he  repeated,  m  the  same 
soft  voice.  "A  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  my 
credit— m  a  First  National  Bank!  While  I  was 
up  here  hustling  to  get  affairs  on  a  working  basis, 
eager  to  show  the  government  and  the  people 
what  we  could  do  and  would  do,  triumphing  in 
our  victory  over  the  trust,  and  figuring  each  day 
on  my  scheme  of  making  this  big,  rich  north 
deal  a  staggering  blow  to  those  accursed  combi- 
nations down  there,  they  were  at  work,  too. 
While  I  was  dreaming  and  doing  these  things, 
Brokaw  and  the  others  had  formed  the  Great 
Northern  Fish  and  Development  Company,  had 
incorporated  it  under  the  laws  of  New  Jersey, 
and  had  already  sold  over  a  million  dollars'  worth 
of  stock!  The  thing  was  m  full  swing  when  I 
reached  headquarters.  I  had  authorized  Brokaw 
to  act  for  me,  and  I  found  that  I  was  vice- 
president  of  one  of  the  biggest  legalized  robbery 
combinations  of  recent  years.  More  money  had 
been  spent  in  advertising  than  in  development 
work.    Hundreds  of  thousands  of  copies  of  my 

20 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

letteFS  from  the  north,  filled  to  the  brim  with 
the  enthusiasm  I  had  felt  for   my   work   and 
projects,  had  been  sent  out  broadcast,   luring 
buyers  of  stock.     In  one  of  these  letters  I  had 
said  that  if  a  half  of  the  lakes  I  had  mapped  out 
were  fished  the  north  could  be  made  to  produce 
a  million  tons  of  Gsh  a  year.     Two  hundred 
thousand  copies  of  this  letter  were  sent  out, 
but  Brokaw  and  his  associates  had  omitted  the 
words,  *If  a  half  of  the  lakes  mapped  out  wei\. 
fished.'     It  would  take  fifteen   thousand   men, 
a  thousand  refrigerator  cars,  and  a  capital  of 
five  million  to  bring  this  about.     I  was  stunned 
by  the  enormity  oi  their  fraud,  and  yet  when  I 
threatened  to  bring  the  whole  thing  to  smash 
Brokaw  only  laughed  and  pointed  out  that  not 
a  single  caution  had  been  omitted.     In  all  of  the 
advertising  it  was  frankly  stated  that  our  license 
was  provisional,   subject  to  withdrawal  if  the 
company  did  not  keep  within  laws.     That  very 
frankness  was  an  adveHisement.     It  was  some- 
thing different.     It  struck  home  where  it  was 
meant  to  strike — among  small  and   unfledged 
investors.     It    roped    them    in    by    thousands. 
The   shares   were   trai   dollars   each,    and   non- 
assessable.    Five  out  of  six  orders  were  from  one 
to  five  shares;  ninety-nine  out  of  every  hundred 
were  not  above  ten  shares.     It  was  damnable. 
The  very  people  for  whom  I  wanted  the  north 
to  fight  had  been  humbugged  to  the  tune  of  a  mil- 
lion and  a  quarter  dollars.     Within  a  year  Brokaw 

21 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

«nd  the  others  had  floated  a  scheme  which  waa 
worse  than  any  trust,  for  the  trusts  pay  back  a 
part  oi  their  steals  in  dividends.  And  I  was 
responsible!  Do  you  realize  that,  Gre^y?  It 
was  I  who  started  the  project.  It  was  my  re- 
ports from  the  north  which  chiefly  induced 
people  to  buy.  And  this  company — ^a  c<Mnpany 
of  robbers  licensed  under  the  law — ^I  am  its 
founder  and  its  vice-president!'* 

Philip  dropped  back  into  his  chair.  The  face 
that  he  turned  to  Gregs<Hi  was  damp  with  per- 
spiration, though  the  room  was  ciully. 
.  "You  stayed  in,"  said  Gregson. 
.  "I  had  to.  There  wasn't  a  loophole  left  open 
to  me.  There  wasn't  a  single  point  at  whidi  I 
could  bring  attack  against  Brokaw  and  the 
others.  They  were  six  veritable  Bismarcks  of 
deviltry  and  shrewdness.  They  hadn't  over- 
stepped the  law.  They  had  sold  a  million  and 
a  quarter  of  stock  on  a  hundred-thousand-dollar 
investment,  but  Brokaw  only  laughed  when  I 
rag«d  at  this.  *Why,  Philip,'  he  said,  *we 
value  our  license  alone  at  over  a  million!'  And 
there  was  no  law  which  could  prevent  them 
from  placing  that  value  upon  it,  or  more.  There 
was  one  thing  that  I  could  do — and  only  one.  I 
could  resign,  decline  to  accept  my  stock  and  the 
hundred  thousand,  and  publicly  announce  why 
I  had  broken  ofiF  my  connections  with  the  com- 
pany. I  was  about  to  do  this  when  cooler 
judgment  prevailed.    It  occurred  to  me  that 

£8 


FLOWER   OF    THE   NORTH 

there  would  have  to  be  an  accounting.  The 
company  might  sell  a  million  and  a  quarter  of 
stock — ^but  in  the  end  there  would  have  to  be 
an  accounting.  If  I  was  out  of  the  game  it 
j  would  be  easily  made.  If  I  was  in — well,  do 
you  see,  Greggy?  There  was  still  a  chance  of 
making  the  company  win  out  as  a  legitimate 
enterprise,  even  though  it  began  under  the  black 
flag  of  piratical  finance  and  fraud.  Brokaw  and 
the  others  were  astonished  at  the  stand  I  took. 
It  was  like  throwing  a  big,  ripe  plum  into  the 
fire  Brokaw  was  the  first  to  hedge.  He  came 
over  to  my  side  in  a  private  interview  which  we  had, 
and  for  the  first  time  I  convinced  him  completely 
of  the  tremendous  possibilities  before  us.  To 
my  surprise  he  began  to  show  actual  enthusiasm 
in  my  favor.  We  figured  out  how  the  company, 
if  properly  developed,  could  be  made  to  pay  a 
dividend  of  fifty  cents  a  share  on  the  stock 
issued  within  two  years.  This,  I  thought,  would 
be  at  least  a  jmrtial  return  of  the  original  steal. 
Brokaw  worked  the  thing  through  in  his  own 
way.  He  was  authorized  to  vote  for  one  of  the 
directors,  who  was  in  Europe,  and  he  won  over 
two  erf  the  others.  As  a  consequence  we  voted 
all  of  the  money  in  the  treasury,  nearly  six  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  and  the  remainder  of  the  »tock 
that  was  on  the  market,  for  development  pur- 
poses. Brokaw  then  made  the  prc^)osition  that 
the  company  buy  up  any  interest  that  wished 
to  withdraw.    The  two  M.  P.'s  and  a  profes- 

23 


FLOWER   OF   THE   NORTH 

^ional  promoter  from  Toronto  immediately  sold 
out  at  fifty  thousand  each.  With  their  original 
hundred  thousand  these  three  retired  with  an 
aggregate  steal  of  nearly  half  a  million.  Pretty 
good  work  for  yours  truly,  dh,  Greggy!  Good 
Heaven,  think  of  it!  I  started  out  to  strike  a 
bloWs  to  launch  a  gigantic  project  for  the  people, 
4ind  this  was  what  I  had  hatched!  Robbery, 
bribery,  fraud — " 

He  paused,  his  hands  clenched  until  the  blue 
veins  stood  out  on  them  like  whipcords. 

"And—" 

Gregson  spoke,  uneasily. 

"And  what?" 

Philip's  fingers  relaxed  their  grip  on  the  table. 

"If  that  had  been  all,  I  wouldn't  have  called 
you  up  here,"  he  continued.  "I've  taken  a  long 
time  in  coming  down  to  the  real  hell  of  the 
affair,  because  I  wanted  you  to  understand  the 
situation  from  the  beginning.  After  I  left 
Brokaw  I  came  north  again.  I  possessed  all  the 
funds  necessary  to  make  an  honest  working  organ- 
ization out  of  the  Northern  Fish  and  Development 
Company.  I  hired  two  hundred  additional  men, 
added  twenty  new  fishing  -  stations,  began  a 
second  road-bed  to  the  main  line,  and  started  a 
huge  dam  at  Blind  Indian  Lake.  We  had  thirty 
horses,  driven  up  through  the  wilderness  from 
Le  Pas,  and  twenty  teams  on  the  way.  There 
didn't  appear  to  be  an  important  obstacle  in  the 
path  of  our  success,  and  I  had  recovered  most 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

of  my  old  enthusiasm  when  Brokaw  sprung  a 
new  mine  under  my  feet. 

"He  had  written  a  long  letter  almost  imme- 
diately after  I  left  him,  which  had  been  delayed 
at  several  places.     In  it  he  told  me  that  he  had 
discovered  a  plot  to  wreck  our  enterprise,  that 
some  powerful   force   was   about   to   be  pitted 
against  us  in  the  very  country  we  were  holding. 
I    could    see    that    Brokaw    was    tremendously 
worked  up  when  he  wrote  the  letter,  and  that 
for  once  he  felt  himself  outwitted  by  a  rival 
faction,  and  reahzed  to  the  full  a  danger  which 
it  took  me  some  time  to  comprehend.     He  had 
discovered  absolute  evidence,  he  said,  that  the 
bunch  of  trust  capitalists  whom  he  had  beaten 
were  about  to  attack  us  in  another  way.     Their 
forces    were    already    moving    into    the    north 
country.     Then-  object  was  to  stir  up  the  country 
against  us,  to  bring  about  that  condition  of  un- 
rest and  antagonism  between  the  people  of  the 
north   and   ourselves  which  would   compel  the 
government    to    take   away   our   license.      Re- 
member, this  license  was  only  provisional.     It 
was,  in  fact,  left  to  the  people  of  the  north  to 
decide  whether  we  should  remain  among  them 
or  not.     If  they  turned  against  us  there  would 
be  only  one  thing  for  the  government  to  do. 

"At  first  Brokaw's  letter  caused  me  no  very 
great  uneasiness.  I  knew  the  people  up  here.  I 
knew  that  the  Indian,  the  Breed,  the  French- 
man, and  the  White  of  this  God's  country  were 

3  26 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

00  invulnerable  to  bribery  as  Brokaw  himself 
is  to  the  pangs  of  conscience.  I  loved  them.  I 
had  faith  in  them.  I  knew  them  to  possess  an 
honor  which  is  not  known  down  there,  where 
we  have  a  church  on  every  four  comers,  and 
where  the  Word  of  God  is  preached  day  and 
night  on  the  open  streets.  I  felt  myself  warming 
with  indignation  as  I  replied  to  Brokaw,  resenting 
his  insinuations  as  to  the  crimes  which  a  '  half- 
savage*  people  might  be  induced  to  commit  for 
a  little  whisky  and  a  little  money.    And  tiben — *' 

Whittemore  wiped  his  face.  The  lines  settled 
deeper  about  his  mouth. 

"Greggy,  a  week  after  I  received  this  letter 
two  warehouses  were  burned  on  the  same  night 
at  BHnd  Indian  Lake.  They  were  three  hun- 
dred yards  apart.  Tkere  is  absolutely  no  doubt 
that  it  was  incendiarism.'* 

He  waited  in  silence,  but  Gregson  still  sat 
watching  him  in  silence. 

"That  was  the  beginning — ^three  months  ago. 
Since  then  some  mysterious  force  has  been 
fighting  us  at  every  step.  A  week  after  the 
warehouses  burned,  a  dredge  and  boat-building 
yard,  which  we  had  constructed  at  considerable 
expense  at  the  mouth  of  the  Gray  Beaver,  was 
destroyed  by  fire.  A  little  later  a  *  premature* 
explosion  of  dynamite  cost  us  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars and  two  weeks*  labor  of  fifty  men.  I  or- 
ganized a  special  guard  service,  composed  of 
fifty  of  my  best  men,  but  it  seemed  to  do  no 

20 


FLOWER   OP    THE    NORTH 

good.  Since  then  we  have  lost  three  miles  of 
road-bed,  destroyed  by  a  washout.  A  terrific 
charge  of  dynamite  had  been  used  to  let  down 
upon  us  the  water  of  a  lake  which  was  situated 
at  the  top  of  a  ridge  near  our  right  of  way. 
Whoever  our  enemies  are,  they  seem  to  know 
our  most  secret  movements,  and  attack  us  when- 
ever we  leave  a  vulnerable  point  open.  The 
most  surprising  part  of  the  whole  affair  is  this: 
in  spite  of  my  own  efforts  to  keep  our  losses 
quiet  the  rumor  has  spread  for  hundreds  of  miles 
aroimd  us,  even  reaching  Churchill,  that  the 
northerners  have  declared  war  against  our  en- 
terprise and  are  determined  to  drive  us  out. 
Two-thirds  of  my  men  believe  this.  Mac- 
Dougall,  my  engineer,  believes  it.  Between  my 
working  forces  and  the  Indians,  French,  and 
half-breeds  about  us  there  has  slowly  developed 
a  feeling  of  suspicion  and  resentment.  It  is 
growing — every  day,  every  hour.  If  it  con- 
tinues it  can  result  in  but  two  things — ^ruin  for 
ourselves,  triumph  for  those  who  are  getting 
at  us  in  this  dastardly  manner.  If  something  is 
not  done  very  soon — within  a  month — ^perhaps 
less — the  country  will  run  with  the  blood  of 
vengeance  from  Churchill  to  the  Barrens.  If 
what  I  expect  to  happen  does  happen  there  wUl 
be  no  government  road  built  to  the  Bay,  the  new 
buildings  at  Churchill  will  turn  gray  with  disuse, 
the  treasures  of  the  north  will  remain  undis-^ 
turbed,  the  country  itself  will  slip  back  a  hun* 

9^ 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

dred  years.  The  forest  people  will  be  filled  with 
hatred  and  suspicion  so  long  as  the  story  of 
great  wrong  travels  down  from  father  to  son. 
And  this  wrong,  this  crime — " 

Philip's  face  was  white,  cold,  almost  passion* 
less  in  the  grim  hardness  that  had  settled  in  it. 
He  mif  olded  a  long  typewritten  letter,  and  handed 
it  to  Gregson. 

"That  letter  is  the  final  word,"  he  explained. 
" It  ^ will  tell  you  what  I  have  not  told  you.  In 
some  way  it  was  mixed  in  my  mail  and  I  did  not 
discover  the  error  until  I  had  opened  it.  It  is 
from  the  headquarters  of  our  enemies,  addressed 
to  the  man  who  is  in  charge  of  their  plot  up 
here." 

"  He  waited,  scarce  breathing,  while  Gregson 
bent  over  the  typewritten  pages.  He  noted  the 
slow  tightening  of  the  other's  fingers  as  he 
turned  from  the  first  sheet  to  the  second;  he 
watched  Gregson's  face,  the  slow  ebbing  of  color, 
the  gray  white  that  followed  it,  the  stiffening  of 
his  arms  and  shoulders  as  he  finished.  Then 
Gregson  looked  up. 

"Good  God!"  he  breathed. 

For  a  full  half -minute  the  two  men  gazed  at 
each  other  across  the  table,  without  speaking. 


IV 

PHILIP  broke  the  silence. 
"Now — ^you  understand." 

"It  is  impossible!"  gasped  Gregson.  "I  can- 
not believe  this!  It— it  might  have  happened  a 
thousand — two  thousand  years  ago — ^but  not 
now.  My  God,  man!"  he  cried,  more  excitedly. 
"You  do  not  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  beheve 
this  will  be  done?" 

"Yes,"  replied  PhHip. 

"It  is  impossible!"  exclaimed  Gregson  again, 
crushing  the  letter  m  his  hand.  "A  man  doesn't 
live — a  combination  doesn't  exist — that  would 
start  such  a  hell  loose  as  this — ^in  this  way!" 

Philip  smiled  grimly. 

"The  man  does  live,  and  the  combination  does 
exist,"  he  said,  slowly.  "Greggy,  I  have  known 
of  men,  and  of  combinations  who  have  spent 
millions,  who  have  sacrificed  everything  of  honor 
and  truth,  who  have  driven  thousands  of  men, 
women,  and  children  to  starvation — and  worse — 
to  achieve  a  victory  in  high  finance.  I  have 
known  of  men  and  combinations  who  have 
broken  almost  every  law  of  man  and  God  in  the 
fight  for  money  and  power.    And  so  have  you  I 

iid 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

You  have  associated  with  some  of  these  men. 
You  have  laughed  and  talked  with  them,  smoked 
with  them,  and  have  dined  at  their  tables.  You 
spent  a  week  at  Selden's  summer  home,  and  it 
was  Selden  who  cornered  wheat  three  years  ago 
and  raised  the  price  of  bread  two  cents  a  loaf. 
It  was  Selden  who  brought  about  the  bread 
riots  in  New  York,  Chicago,  and  a  score  of  other 
cities,  who  swung  wide  the  prison  doors  for 
thousands,  whose  millions  were  gained  at  a  cost 
of  misery,  crime,  and  even  death.  And  Selden 
is  only  one  out  of  thousands  who  live  to-day, 
watching  for  their  opportunities,  giving  no  heed 
to  those  who  may  fall  under  the  juggernaut  of 
their  capital.  This  isn't  the  age  of  petty  dis- 
crimination, Greggy.  It*s  the  age  of  the  al- 
mighty dollar,  and  of  the  fight  for  it.  And 
there's  no  chivalry,  no  quarter  shown  in  this 
fight.  Men  of  Selden's  stamp  don't  stop  at 
women  and  children.  The  scrubwoman's  dol- 
lar is  just  as  big  as  yours  or  mine,  and  if  a 
scheme  could  be  promoted  whereby  every  scrub- 
woman in  America  could  be  safely  robbed  of  a 
dollar  you'd  find  thousands  of  men  down  there 
in  our  cities  ready  to  go  into  it  to-morrow.  And 
to  such  men  as  these  wiiat  is  the  sacrifice  of  a 
few  women  up  here?" 

Gregson  dropped  the  letter,  crumpled  and 
twisted,  upon  the  table. 

"I  wonder — ^if  I  understand,'*  he  said,  looking 
into  Philip's  white  face.    "There  has  undoubt- 

80 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

edly  been  previous  correspondence,  and  this  letter 
contains  the  final  word.  It  shows  that  your 
enemies  have  already  succeeded  in  working  up 
the  forest  people  against  you,  and  have  filled 
them  with  suspicion.  Their  last  blow  is  to 
be—" 

He  stopped,  and  Philip  nodded  at  the  horri- 
fied question  in  his  eyes. 

"Greggy,  up  here  there  is  one  law  which 
reigns  above  all  other  law.  When  I  was  in 
Prince  Albert  a  year  ago  I  was  sitting  on  the 
veranda  of  the  little  old  Windsor  Hotel.  About 
me  were  a  dozen  wild  men  of  the  north,  who  had 
come  down  for  a  day  or  two  to  the  edge  of 
civilization.  Most  of  those  men  had  not  been 
out  of  the  forests  for  a  year.  Two  of  them  were 
from  the  Barrens,  and  this  was  their  first  glimpse 
of  civilized  Ufe  in  five  years.  As  we  sat  there 
a  woman  came  up  the  street.  She  turned  in  at 
the  hotel.  About  me  there  was  a  sudden  lower- 
ing of  voices,  a  shuffling  of  feet.  As  she  passed, 
every  one  of  those  twelve  rose  from  their  seats 
and  stood  with  bowed  heads  and  their  caps  in 
their  hands  until  she  had  gone.  I  was  the  only 
one  who  remained  sitting!  That,  Greggy,  is  the 
one  great  law  of  life  up  here,  the  worship  of 
woman  because  she  is  woman.  A  man  may 
steal,  he  may  kill,  but  he  must  not  break  this 
law.  If  he  steals  or  kills,  the  mounted  police 
may  bring  the  offender  to  justice;  but  if  he 
breaks  this  other  law  there  is  but  one  punish- 

81 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

ment,  and  that  is  the  punishment  of  the  people. 
That  is  what  this  letter  purposes  to  do — to 
break  this  law  in  order  that  its  penalty  may  fall 
upon  us.     And  if  they  succeed,  God  help  us!" 

It  was  Gregson  who  jumped  to  his  feet  now. 
He  took  half  a  dozen  nervous  steps,  paused, 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  looked  down  into  Phihp's 
upturned  face. 

"I  understand  now  where  the  fight  is  coming 
in,"  he  said.  "If  this  thing  goes  through,  these 
people  will  rise  and  wipe  you  oflF  the  map. 
They'll  lay  it  to  you  and  your  men,  of  course. 
And  I  fancy  it  won't  be  a  job  half  done  if  they 
feel  about  it  as  I'd  fed.  But,"  he  demanded, 
sharply,  "why  don't  you  put  the  affair  into 
the  hands  of  the  proper  authorities— the  police 
or  the  government?  You've  got—  By  George, 
you  must  have  the  name  of  the  man  to  whom 
that  letter  was  addressed !" 

Philip  handed  him  a  soiled  white  envelope,  of 
the  kind  in  which  official  documents  are  usually 
mailed. 

"That's  the  man." 

Gregson  gave  a  low  whistle. 

"Lord— Fitzhugh— Lee!"  he  read,  slowly,  as 
though  scarce  believmg  his  eyes.  "Great  Scott! 
A  British  peer!" 

The  cynical  smile  on  Philip's  lips  cut  his  words 
short. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said.  "But  if  there  is  a 
British  lord  up  here  he  isn't  very  well  known, 

82 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

Greggy.  No  one  knows  of  him.  No  one  has 
heard  a  rumor  of  him.  That  is  why  we  can't  go 
to  the  poHce  or  the  government.  They'd  give 
small  credence  to  what  we've  got  to  show.  This 
letter  wouldn't  count  the  weight  of  a  feather 
without  further  evidence,  and  a  lot  of  it.  Be- 
sides, we  haven't  time  to  go  to  the  government. 
It  is  too  far  away  and  too  slow.  And  as  for 
the  police— I  know  of  three  in  this  territory,  and 
there  are  fifteen  thousand  square  miles  of 
mountains  and  plains  and  forest  in  their  'beat.* 
It's  up  to  you  and  me  to  find  this  Lord  Fitzhugh. 
If  we  can  do  that  we  will  be  in  a  position  to  put 
a  kibosh  on  this  plot  in  a  hurry.  If  we  fail  to 
run  him  down — " 
"What  then?" 

"We'll  have  to  watch  our  chances.  I've  told 
you  all  that  I  know,  and  you're  on  an  even 
workmg  basis  with  me.  At  first  I  thought  that 
I  understood  the  object  of  those  who  are  plannmg 
to  ruin  us  in  this  cowardly  manner.  But  I  don't 
now.  If  they  ruin  us  they  also  destroy  the 
chances  of  any  other  company  that  may  be 
schemmg  to  usurp  our  place.     For  that  reason 

"There  must  still  be  other  factors  in  the  game," 
said  Gregson,  as  Philip  hesitated. 

"There  are.  I  want  you  to  work  out  your 
own  suspicions,  Greggy,  and  then  we'll  compare 
notes.  Lord  Fitzhugh  is  the  key  to  the  whole 
situation.     No  matter  who  is  at  the  bottom  of 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

this  plot,  Lord  Fitzhugh  is  the  man  at  the  work- 
ing end  of  it.  We  don't  care  so  much  about  the 
writer  of  this  letter  as  the  one  to  whom  it  was 
written.  It  is  evident  that  he  had  planned  to  be 
at  Churchill,  for  the  letter  is  addressed  to  him 
here.  But  he  hasn't  shown  up.  He  has  never 
been  here,  so  far  as  I  can  discover." 

"I'd  give  a  year's  growth  for  a  copy  of  the 
British  Peerage  or  a  Who's  Who"  mused  Gregson, 
flecking  the  ashes  from  his  cigarette.  "Who  the 
deuce  can  this  Lord  Fitzhugh  he?  What  sort  of 
an  Englishman  would  mix  up  in  a  dirty  job  of  this 
kind?  You  might  imagine  him  to  be  one  of  the 
men^  behind  the  guns,  like  Brokaw.  But,  by 
George,  he's  working  the  dirty  end  of  it  himself, 
according  to  that  letter!" 

"You're  beginning  to  use  your  head  already, 
Greggy,"  said  Philip,  a  httle  more  cheerfully. 
"I've  asked  myself  that  question  a  hundred 
times  during  the  last  three  days,  and  I'm  more 
at  sea  than  ever.  If  it  had  been  plain  Tom 
Brown  or  Bill  Jones,  the  name  would  not  have 
suggested  anything  beyond  what  you  have"'read 
in  the  letter.  That's  the  question:  Why  should 
a  Lord  Fitzhugh  Lee  be  mixed  up  iii  this  affair.?''* 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  Other  keenly  for 
a  few  moments  in  silence. 

"It  suggests — *'  began  Gregson. 

"What.?" 

"That  there  may  be  a  bigger  scheme  behind 
this  affair  than  we  imagine.    In  fact,  it  suggests 

94 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

to  me  that  the  northerners  are  being  stirred  up 
against  you  and  your  men  for  some  other  and 
more  powerful  reason  than  to  make  you  get  out 
of  the  country  and  compel  the  government  to 
withdraw  your  hcense.  So  help  me  God,  I 
beheve  there's  more  behind  it!" 

"So  do  I,"  said  Philip,  quietly. 

"Have  you  any  suspicions  of  what  might  be 
the  more  powerful  motive?" 

"None.  I  know  that  British  capital  is  heavily 
interested  in  mineral  lands  east  of  the  surveyed 
line.  But  there  is  none  at  Churchill.  All 
operations  have  been  carried  on  from  Montreal 
and  Toronto." 

"  Have  you  written  to  Brokaw  about  this  letter.?" 

"You  are  the  first  to  whom  I  have  revealed 
its  contents,"  said  Philip.  "I  have  neglected  to 
tell  you  that  Brokaw  is  so  worked  up  over  the 
affair  that  he  is  joining  me  in  the  north.  The 
Hudson's  Bay  Company's  ship,  which  comes 
over  twice  a  year,  touches  at  Halifax,  and  if 
Brokaw  followed  out  his  intentions  he  took  pas- 
sage there.  The  ship  should  be  in  within  a  week 
or  ten  days.  And,  by  the  way  " — ^Phihp  stood 
up  and  thrust  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  as 
he  spoke,  half  smiling  at  Gregson — "it  gives  me 
pleasure  to  hand  you  a  bit  of  cheerful  informa- 
tion along  with  that,"  he  added.  "  Miss  Brokaw 
is  commg  with  him.     She  is  very  beautiful." 

Gregson  held  a  lighted  match  until  it  burnt 
his  finger-tips. 


-FLOWER   OF    THE    NOETH 

"The  deuce  you  say!  I've  heard— " 
"Yes,  you  have  heard  of  her  beauty,  no  doubt. 
I  am  not  a  special  enthusiast  in  your  line,  Greggy, 
but  I  will  confirm  your  opinion  of  Miss  Brokaw. 
You  will  say  that  she  is  the  most  beautiful  gu-1 
you  have  ever  seen,  and  you  will  want  to  make 
heads  of  her  for  Burkes.  I  suppose  you  wonder 
why  she  is  coming  up  here?     So  do  I."     ^ 

There  was  a  look  of  perplexity  in  Phihp  s  eyes 
which  Gregson  might  have  noticed  if  he  had  not 
gone  to  the  door  to  look  out  into  the  night. 

"What  makes  the  stars  so  big  and  bright  up 
in  this  country,  Phil?"  he  asked. 

"Because  of  the  clearness  of  the  atmosphere 
through  which  you  are  looking,"  replied  Philip, 
wondering  what  was  passing  through  the  other  s 
mind.  "This  air— compared  with  ours— is  just 
like  a  piece  of  glass  that  has  been  cleaned  of  a 
year's  accumulation  of  dirt. 

Gregson  whistled  softly  for  a  few  moments. 
Then  he  said,  without  turning: 

"She's  got  to  go  some  if  she  beats  the  girl  i 
saw  this  evening,  Phil."  He  turned  at  Philip  s 
silence,  and  laughed.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  old 
man,  I  didn't  mean  to  speak  of  her  as  if  she  were 
a  horse.     I  mean  Miss  Brokaw." 

"And  I  don't  particularly  like  the ^ idea  of 
betting  on  the  merits  of  a  pretty  girl,  replied 
Philip,  "but  I'll  break  the  rule  for  once,  and 
wager  you  the  best  hat  in  New  York  that  she 
does  beat  her.'* 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

^  "Done!"  said  Gregson.  "A  little  gentle  ex- 
citement of  this  sort  will  relieve  the  tension  of  the 
other  thing,  Phil.  I've  heard  enough  of  business 
for  to-night.  I'm  going  to  finish  a  sketch  that 
I  have  begun  of  her  before  I  forget  the  fine 
points.     Any  objection.?" 

"None  at  all,"  said  Philip.  "Meanwhile  I'll 
go  out  to  breathe  a  spell." 
i ;  He  put  on  his  coat  and  took  down  his  cap  from 
a  peg  in  the  wall.  Gregson  had  seated  himself 
under  the  lamp  and  was  sharpening  a  pencil.  As 
Philip  went  to  go  out  Gregson  drew  an  envelope 
from  his  pocket  and  tossed  it  on  the  table. 

"If  you  should  happen  to  see  any  one  that 
looks  like— her,"  he  said,  nodding  toward  the 
envelope,  "kindly  put  in  a  word  for  me,  will  you.? 
I  did  that  in  a  hurry.     It's  not  half  flattering," 

PhiKp  laughed  as  he  picked  up  the  envelope. 

"The  most  beau — "  he  began.  » 

He  caught  himself  with  a  jerk.  Gregson, 
looking  up  from  his  pencil-sharpening,  saw  the 
smile  leave  his  lips  and  a  quick  flush  leap  into  his 
bronzed  cheeks.  He  stared  at  the  face  on  the 
envelope  for  a  half  a  minute,  then  gazed  speech- 
lessly at  Gregson. 

It  was  Gregson  who  laughed,  softly  and  without 
suspicion. 

**How  does  your  wager  look  now?"  he  taunted. 
^  "She — is— beautiful,"  murmured  Philip,  drop- 
ping the  envelope  and  turning  to  the  door, 
"Don't  wait  for  me,  Greggy.     Go  to  bed." 

87 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

He  heard  Gregson  laugh  behind  him,  and  he 
wondered,  as  he  went  out,  what  Gregson  would 
say  if  he  told  him  that  he  had  drawn  on  the  back 
of  the  old  envelope  the  beautiful  face  of  Eileea 
Brokaw! 


A  DOZEN    steps    beyond    the    door   Philip 
paused  in  the  shadow  of  a  dense  spruce,  half 
persuaded  to  return.    From  where  he  stood  he 
could  see  Gregson  bending  over  the  table,  already 
at  work  on  the  picture.     He  confessed  that  the 
sketch  had  startled  him.    He  knew  that  it  had 
sent  the  hot  blood  rushing  to  his  face,  and  that 
only    through    a    fortunate    circumstance    had 
Gregson  ascribed  its  effect  upon  him  to  some- 
thing that  was  wide  of  the  truth.    Miss  Brokaw 
was  a  thousand  or  more  miles  away.    At  this 
moment  she  was  somewhere  in  the  North  At- 
lantic, if  their  ship  had  left  Halifax.     She  had 
never  been  in  the  north.     More  than  that,  he 
knew  that  Gregson  had  never  seen  Miss  Brokaw, 
and  had  heard  of  her  only  through  himself  and 
the  society  columns  of  the  newspapers.     How 
could  he  explain  his  possession  of  the  sketch? 
r    He  drew  a  step  or  two  nearer  to  the  open  door,, 
and  stopped  again.     If  he  returned  to  question 
Gregson  it  would  draw  him  perilously  near  to 
explanations  which  he  did  not  care  to  make,  to 
the  one  secret  which  he  wished  to  guard  from  his 
friend's  knowledge.    After  all,  the  picture  was 

39 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

only  a  resemblance.  It  could  be  nothing  but  a 
resemblance,  even  though  it  was  so  striking  and 
unusual  that  it  had  thrown  him  off  his  guard  at 
first.  When  he  returned  later  and  looked  at  it 
again  he  would  no  doubt  be  able  to  see  his  error. 

He  walked  on  through  the  spruce  shadows  and 
up  a  narrow  trail  that  led  to  the  bald  knob  of  the 
ridge,  feeling  his  way  with  his  right  hand  before 
him  when  the  denseness  of  the  forest  shut  out 
the  light  of  the  stars  and  the  moon,  until  at 
last  he  stood  out  strong  and  clear  under  the 
glow  of  the  skies,  with  the  world  sweeping  out 
in  black  and  gray  mystery  around  him.  To  the 
north  was  the  Bay,  reaching  away  like  a  vast 
black  plain.  Half  a  mile  distant  two  or  three 
lights  were  burning  over  Fort  Churchill,  red  eyes 
peering  up  out  of  the  deep  pool  of  darkness; 
to  the  south  and  west  there  swept  the  gray, 
starlit  distances  which  lay  between  him  and 
civilization. 

He  leaned  against  a  great  rock,  resting  his 
elbows  in  a  carpet  of  moss,  and  his  eyes  turned 
into  the  mystery  of  those  distances.  The  sea  of 
spruce-tops  that  rose  out  of  the  ragged  valley  at 
his  feet  whispered  softly  in  the  night  wind;  from 
out  of  their  depths  trembled  the  low  hoot  of  an  owl; 
over  the  vaster  desolation  beyond  hovered  a  weird 
and  unbroken  silence.  More  than  once  the  spirit 
of  this  world  had  come  to  him  in  the  night  and 
had  roused  him  from  his  slumber  to  sit  alone  out 
under  the  stars,  imagining  all  that  it  might  tell 

40 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

him  if  he  could  read  the  voice  of  it  in  the  whispering 
of  the  trees,  if  he  could  but  understand  it  as  he 
longed  to  understand  it,  and  could  find  in  it  the 
peace  which  he  knew  that  it  all  but  held  for  him. 
The  spirit  of  it  had  never  been  nearer  to  him 
than  to-night.  He  felt  it  close  to  him,  so  near 
that  it  seemed  like  the  warm,  vibrant  touch  of  a 
presence  at  his  side,  something  which  had  come 
to  him  in  a  voiceless  loneliness  as  great  as  his 
own,  watching  and  listening  with  him  beside  the 
rock.  It  seemed  nearer  to  him  since  he  had 
seen  and  talked  with  Gregson.  It  was  much 
nearer  to  him  since  a  few  minutes  ago,  when  he 
had  looked  upon  what  he  had  first  thought  to 
be  the  face  of  Eileen  Brokaw. 

And  this  was  the  world— the  spirit— that  had 
changed  him.  He  wondered  if  Gregson  had  seen 
the  change  which  he  tried  so  hard  to  conceal. 
He  wondered  if  Miss  Brokaw  would  see  it 
when  she  came,  and  if  her  soft,  gray  eyes  would 
read  to  the  bottom  of  him  as  they  had  fathomed 
him  once  before  upon  a  time  which  seemed  years 
and  years  ago.  Thoughts  like  these  troubled 
him.  Twice  that  day  he  had  found  stealing  over 
him  a  feeling  that  was  almost  physical  pain,  and 
yet  he  knew  that  this  pain  was  but  the  gnawing 
of  a  great  loneliness  in  his  heart.  In  these  mo- 
ments he  had  been  sorry  that  he  had  brought 
Gregson  back  into  his  life.  And  with  Gregson  he 
was  bringing  back  Eileen  Brokaw.  He  was  more 
than  sorry  for  that.     The  thought  of  it  made 

4  41 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

him  grow  warm  and  uncomfortable,  though  the' 
night  air  from  off  the  Bay  was  filled  with  the, 
chill  tang  of  the  northern  icebergs.     Again  his. 
thoughts  brought  him  face  to  face  with  the  old 
pictures,  the  old  life.     With  them  came  haunting 
memories  of  a  Philip  WTiittemore  who  had  once 
lived,  and  who  had  died;   and  with  these  ghosts 
of  the  past  there  surged  upon  him  the  loneliness 
which  seemed  to  crush  and  stifle  him.     Like  one 
in  a  dream  he  was  swept  back.     Over  the  black 
spruce  at  his  feet,  far  into  the  gray,  misty  dis- 
tances beyond,  over  forests  and  mountains  and 
the  vast,  grim  silences  his  vision  reached  out 
until  he  saw  life  as  it  had  begun  for  him,  and  as 
he  had  lived  it  for  a  time.     It  had  opened  fair. 
It  had  given  promise.     It  had  filled  him  with 
hope  and  ambition.     And  then  it  had  changed. 
Unconsciously  he  clenched  his  hands  as  he 
thought  of  what  had  followed,  of  the  black  days 
of  ruin,  of  death,  of  the  dissolution  of  all  that  he 
had  hoped  and  dreamed  for.     He  had  fought, 
because  he  was  born  a  fighter.     He  had  risen 
again  and  again,  only  to  find  misfortune  still  at 
his  face.     At  first  he  had  laughed,  and  had  called 
it  bad  luck.     But  the  bad  luck  had  followed' 
him,  dogging  him  with  a  persistence  which  de-i 
veloped   in   him   a   new   perspective   of  things. 
He  dropped  away  from  his  clubs.     He  began  to 
measure  men  and  women  as  he  had  not  measured 
them  before,  and  there  grew  in  him  slowly  a 
revulsion  for  what  those  measurements  revealed. 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

'f*rt^  spirit  that  was  growing  in  him  called  out 
for  bigger  things,  for  the  wild  freedom  which 
he  had  tasted  for  a  time  with  Gregson — for  a 
life  which  was  not  warped  by  the  gilded  amen- 
ities of  the  crowded  ballroom  to-night,  by  the 
frenzied  dollar-fight  to-morrow.  No  one  could 
understand  that  change  in  him.  He  could  find 
no  spirit  in  sympathy  with  him,  no  chord  in 
another  breast  that  he  could  reach  out  and 
touch  and  thrill  with  understanding.  Once  he 
had  hoped— and  tried — 

A  deep  br<«ath,  almost  a  sigh,  fell  from  his  lips 
as  he  thought  of  that  last  night,  at  the  Brokaw 
ball.  He  heard  again  the  laughter  and  chatter 
of  men  and  women,  the  soft  rustle  of  skirts — and 
then  the  break,  the  silence,  as  the  low,  sweet 
music  of  his  favor/te  waltz  began,  while  he  stood 
screened  behind  a  bank  of  palms  looking  down 
into  the  clear  gray  eyes  of  Eileen  Brokaw.  He 
saw  himself  as  he  had  stood  then,  leaning  over 
her  slim  white  shoulders,  intoxicated  by  her 
beauty,  his  face  pale  with  the  fear  of  what  he 
was  about  to  say;  and  he  saw  the  girl,  with  her 
beautiful  head  thrown  a  little  back,  so  that  her 
golden  hair  almost  touched  his  lips,  waiting  for 
him  to  speak.  For  months  he  had  fought  against 
the  fascination  of  her  beauty.  Again  and  again 
he  had  almost  surrendered  to  it,  only  to  pull 
himself  back  in  time.  He  had  seen  this  girl,  as 
pure-looking  as  an  angel,  strike  deeply  at  the 
hearts  of  other  men;  he  had  heard  her  laugh  and 

48 


FLOWER    OP    THE    NORTH 

talk  lightly  of  the  wounds  she  had  made.  Be- 
hind the  eyes  which  gazed  up  at  him,  clear  and 
sweet  as  pools  of  sunlit  water,  he  knew  there  lay 
the  consuming  passion  for  power,  for  admiration, 
for  the  froth-like  pleasures  of  the  life  that  was 
swirling  about  them.  Sincerity  was  but  their 
mask.  He  knew  that  the  beautiful  gray  eyes  lied 
to  him  when  he  saw  in  them  all  that  he  held 
glorious  in  womanhood. 

He  laughed  softly  to  himself  as  the  picture 
grew  in  his  mind,  and  he  saw  Ransom  come 
blundering  in  through  the  palms,  mopping  his 
red  face  and  chattering  inane  things  to  little 
Miss  Meesen.  Ransom  was  always  blundering. 
This  time  his  blunder  saved  Philip.  The  pas- 
sionate words  died  on  his  lips;  and  when  Ransom 
and  Miss  Meesen  turned  about  in  a  giggling 
flutter,  he  spoke  no  words  of  love,  but  opened 
up  his  heart  to  this  girl  whom  he  would  have 
loved  if  she  had  been  like  her  eyes.  It  was  his 
last  hope — that  she  would  understand  him,  see 
with  him  the  emptiness  of  his  life,  sympathize 
with  him. 

And  she  had  laughed  at  him! 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet;  there  had  come  for 
an  instant  a  flash  like  that  of  fire  in  her  eyes;  her 
voice  trembled  a  little  when  she  spoke.  There 
was  resentment  in  the  poise  of  her  white  shoulders 
as  Ransom's  voice  came  to  them  in  a  loud  laugh 
from  behind  the  palms;  her  red  lips  showed  dis- 
dain and  anger.     She  hated  Ransom  for  breaking 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

in;  she  despised  Philip  for  allowing  the  inter- 
ruption to  tear  away  her  triumph.  Her  own 
betrayal  of  herself  was  like  tonic  to  Philip,  He 
laughed  joyously  when  he  was  alone  out  in  the 
cool  night  air.  Ransom  never  knew  why  Philip 
hunted  him  out  and  shook  his  fat  hand  so 
warmly  at  parting. 

Philip  again  felt  himself  in  the  fever  of  that 
night  as  he  turned  from  the  rock  and  began 
picking  his  way  down  the  side  of  the  ridge 
toward  the  Bay.  He  found  himself  wondering 
what  had  become  of  good-natured,  dense-headed 
Ransom,  who  had  all  he  could  do  to  spend  his 
father's  allowance.  From  Ransom  his  thoughts 
turned  to  little  Harry  Dell,  Roscoe,  big  Dan 
Philips,  and  three  or  four  others  who  had  sacri- 
ficed their  hearts  at  Miss  Brokaw's  feet.  He 
grimaced  as  he  thought  of  young  Dell,  who  had 
worshiped  the  ground  she  walked  on,  and  who 
had  gone  straight  to  the  devil  when  she  threw 
him  over.  He  wondered,  too,  where  Roscoe  was. 
He  knew  that  Roscoe  would  have  won  out  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  financial  crash  which  took 
his  brokerage  firm  oflf  its  feet  and  left  him  a 
pauper.  He  had  heard  that  Roscoe  had  gone 
up  into  British  Columbia  to  recuperate  his  for- 
tune in  Douglas  fir.    As  for  big  Dan — " 

Philip  stumbled  over  a  rock,  and  rose  with  a 
bruised  knee.  The  shock  brought  him  back  to 
realities,  and  a  few  moments  later  he  stood  upon 
the  narrow  boulder-strewn  beach,  rubbing  his 

45 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

knee  and  calling  himself  a  fool  for  allowing  the 
old  thoughts  to  stir  him  up.  Out  there,  some- 
where, Brokaw  and  his  daughter  were  coming. 
That  Miss  Brokaw  was  with  her  father  was  a 
circumstance  which  was  of  no  importance  to 
him.  At  least  he  told  himself  so,  and  set  his 
face  toward  Churchill. 

To-night  the  stars  and  the  moon  seemed  to  be 
more  than  usually  brilliant.  About  him  the 
great  masses  of  rock,  the  tumbling  surf,  the  edge 
ci  the  forest,  and  the  Bay  itself  were  illumined  as 
if  by  the  light  of  a  softly  radiant  day.  He  looked 
at  his  watch  and  found  that  it  was  past  mid- 
night. He  had  been  up  since  dawn,  and  yet  he 
felt  no  touch  of  fatigue,  no  need  of  sleep.  He 
took  off  his  cap  and  walked  bareheaded  in  the 
mellow  light,  his  moccasined  feet  falling  lightly, 
his  eyes  alert  to  all  that  this  wonderful  night 
world  might  hold  for  him.  Ahead  of  him  rose 
a  giant  mass  of  rock,  worn  smooth  and  slippery 
by  the  water  dashed  against  it  in  the  crashing 
storms  of  countless  centuries,  and  this  he  climbed, 
panting  when  he  reached  the  top.  His  eyes 
turned  to  where  he  saw  Fort  Churchill  sleeping 
along  the  edge  of  the  Bay. 

In  that  same  spot,  a  great  pool  of  night-glow 
between  two  forest-crowned  ridges,  it  had  lain  for 
hundreds  of  years.  He  passed  the  ancient  land- 
ing-place of  rocks,  built  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago  for  the  first  ships  that  came  over  the 
strange  sea;  he  stood  upon  the  tumbled  founda- 

46 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTff 

tions  of  the  Fort,  that  was  still  older,  and  saw 
the  starhght  glinting  on  one  of  the  brass  cannon 
that  lay  where  it  had  fallen  amid  the  debris, 
untouched  and  unmoved  since  the  days,  ages- 
gone,  when  it  had  last  thundered  its  welcome  or 
Its  defiance  through  the  solitudes;  he  walked 
«lowly  along  the  shore  where  the  sea  had  lashed 
wearily  for  many  a  year,  to  reach  the  wilderness 
dead,  and  where  now,  triumphant,  the  frothing 
surf  bared  gun-case  coflSns  and  tumbled  the 
bones  of  men  down  into  its  sullen  depths.  And 
such  men!  Men  who  had  lived  and  died  when 
the  world  was  unborn  in  a  half  of  its  knowledge 
and  science,  when  red  blood  was  the  great 
capital,  strong  hearts  the  winners  of  life.  And 
there  were  women,  too,  women  who  had  come 
with  these  men,  and  died  with  them,  in  the  open- 
ing-up  of  a  new  world.  It  was  such  men  as 
these,  and  such  women  as  these,  that  Philip 
loved,  and  he  walked  with  bared  head  and 
swiftly  beating  heart  over  the  unmarked  jungle 
of  the  dead. 

And  then  he  came  to  other  things,  the  first  low 
log  buildings  of  Churchill,  to  the  silence  of  sleep- 
ing life.  New  buildings  loomed  up  —  working 
quarters  of  men  who  were  grubbing  for  dollars, 
the  new  wharves,  the  skeletons  of  elevators, 
sullen,  windowless  warehouses,  the  oflSce-build- 
ings  of  men  who  were  already  fighting  and 
quarreling  and  gripping  at  one  another's  throats 
in  the  struggle  for  supremacy,  for  the  biggest  and 

47 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

ripest  plums  in  this  new  land  of  opportunity. 
The  dollar-fight  had  begun,  and  the  things  that 
already  marked  its  presence  loomed  monstrous 
and  grotesque  to  Philip,  as  if  jeering  at  the  for- 
gotten efforts  of  those  whom  the  sea  was  washing 
away.  And  suddenly  it  struck  Philip  that  the 
sea,  working  ceaselessly,  digging  away  at  its 
dead,  was  not  the  enemy  of  the  nameless  crea- 
tures in  the  gun-case  coffins,  but  that  it  was  a 
friend,  stanch  through  centuries,  rescuing  them 
now  from  the  desecration  that  was  to  come;  and 
for  a  moment  he  was  resistless  to  the  spirit  that 
moved  him  about  and  made  him  face  that  sea 
with  something  that  was  almost  a  prayer  m  his 
heart. 

As  he  turned  he  saw  that  a  light  had  appeared 
in  one  of  the  low  log  buildmgs  which  contained 
the  two  offices  of  the  Keewatin  Mines  and 
Lands  Company.  The  light,  and  the  bulky 
shadow  of  old  Pearce,  which  appeared  for  a 
moment  on  one  of  the  drawn  curtains,  aroused 
Philip  to  other  thoughts.  Since  his  arrival  at 
Churchill  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Pearce,  and  it  struck  him  now  that  just  such  a 
man  as  this  might  be  Lord  Fitzhugh  Lee.  The 
Keewatin  Mines  and  Lands  Company  had  no 
mines  and  few  lands,  and  yet  Pearce  had  told 
him  that  they  were  doing  a  husthng  busme$s 
down  south,  selling  stock  on  mineral  claims  that 
couldn't  be  worked  for  years.  After  all,  was 
he  any  better  than  Pearce? 

48 


FLOWER   OF    TH^    NORTH 

The  old  bitterness  rose  in  him.  He  was  no 
better  than  Pearce,  no  better  than  this  Lord 
Fitzhugh  himself,  and  it  was  fate — fate  and 
people,  that  had  made  him  so.  He  walked 
swiftly  now,  following  close  along  the  shore  in 
the  hard  stretch  kept  bare  by  the  tides,  until 
lie  came  to  the  red  coals  of  half  a  dozen  Indian 
fires  on  the  edge  of  the  forest  beyond  the  com- 
pany's buildings.  A  dog  scented  him  and  howled. 
He  heard  a  guttural  voice  break  in  a  word  of 
command  from  one  of  the  tepees,  and  there  was 
silence  again. 

He  turned  to  the  right,  burying  himself  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  great  silence  of  the  north, 
his  quick  steps  keeping  pace  with  the  thoughts 
that  were  passing  through  his  brain.  Fate,  bad 
luck,  circumstance — ^they  had  been  against  him. 
He  had  told  himself  this  a  hundred  times,  had 
laughed  at  them  with  the  confidence  of  one  who 
knew  that  some  day  he  would  rise  above  these 
things  in  triumph.  And  yet  what  were  these 
elements  of  fortime,  as  he  had  called  them,  but 
people.'^  A  feeling  of  personal  resentment  began 
to  oppress  him.  People  had  downed  him,  and 
not  circumstance  and  bad  luck.  Men  and 
women  had  made  a  failure  of  him,  and  not  fate. 
For  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  very 
men  and  women  whom  Brokaw  and  his  asso- 
ciates had  duped,  whom  Pearce  was  duping, 
would  play  the  game  in  the  same  way  if  they  had 
the  opportunity.     What  if  he  had  played  on  the 

49 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

winning  side,  if  he  had  enlisted  his  fighting 
energies  with  men  Uke  Brokaw  and  Pearce, 
fought  for  money  and  power  in  place  of  this 
other  thing,  which  seemed  to  count  so  httle? 
Other  men  would  have  given  much  to  have  been 
in  his  favor  with  Eileen  Brokaw.  He  might  have 
been  in  the  front  of  this  other  fight,  the  winning 
fight,  the  possessor  of  fortune,  a  beautiful 
woman — 

He  stopped  suddenly.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had  heard  a  voice.  He  had  climbed  from  out 
of  the  shadow  of  the  forest  until  he  stood  now 
on  a  gray  cliff  of  rock  that  reached  out  into  the 
Bay,  like  the  point  of  a  great  knife  guarding 
Churchill.  A  block  of  sandstone  rose  in  his 
path,  and  he  passed  quietly  around  it.  In  an- 
other instant  he  had  flattened  himself  against  it. 

A  dozen  feet  away,  full  in  the  moonli^t,  three 
figures  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  as  motionless 
as  though  hewn  out  of  rock.  Instinctively 
Philip's  hand  slipped  to  his  revolver  holster,  but 
he  drew  it  back  when  he  saw  that  one  of  the  three 
figures  was  that  of  a  woman.  Beside  her 
crouched  a  huge  wolf-dog;  on  the  other  side  of 
the  dog  sat  a  man.  The  man  was  resting  m  the 
attitude  of  an  Indian,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  his  chm  in  the  palms  of  his  hands,  gazing 
steadily  and  silently  out  ova*  the  Bay  toward 
Churchill. 

It  was  his  companion  that  held  Philip  motion- 
less against  the  face  of  the  rock.    She,  too,  was 

50 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

leaning  forward,  gazing  in  that  same  steady, 
silent  way  toward  Churchill.  She  was  bare- 
headed. Her  hair  fell  loose  over  her  shoulders 
aad  streamed  down  her  back  until  it  piled  itself 
upon  the  rock,  shining  dark  and  lustrous  in  the 
light  of  the  moon.  Philip  knew  that  she  was 
not  an  Indian. 

Suddenly  the  gu-l  sat  erect,  and  then  sprang  to 
her  feet,  partly  facing  him,  the  bi'eeze  rippling 
her  hair  about  her  face  and  shoulders,  her  eyes 
turned  to  the  vast  gray  depths  of  the  world  be- 
yond the  forests.  For  an  instant  she  turned  so 
that  the  light  of  the  moon  fell  full  upon  her,  and 
in  that  moment  Philip  thought  that  her  eyes 
had  searched  him  out  in  the  shadow  of  the  rock 
and  were  looking  straight  into  his  own.  Never 
had  he  seen  such  a  beautiful  face  among  the 
forest  people.  He  had  dreamed  of  such  faces 
beside  camp-fires,  in  the  deep  loneliness  of  long 
nights  in  the  forests,  when  he  had  awakened  to 
bring  before  him  visions  of  what  Eileen  Brokaw 
might  have  been  to  him  if  he  had  found  her  one 
of  these  people.  He  drew  himself  closer  to  the 
rock.  The  girl  turned  again  to  the  edge  of  the 
diflF,  her  slender  form  silhouetted  against  the 
starlit  sky.  She  leaned  over  the  dog,  and  he 
heard  her  voice,  soft  and  caressing,  but  he  could 
not  understand  her  words.  The  man  lifted  his 
head,  and  he  recognized  the  swarthy,  clear-cut 
features  of  a  French  half-breed.  He  moved  away 
as  quietly  as  he  had  come, 

51 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

The  girl's  voice  stopped  him. 

"And  that  is  Churchill.  Pierre-the  Churchill 
you  have  told  me  of,  where  the  ships  come  mf 

"Yes,  that  is  Churchill,  Jeanne. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  Then,  clear 
and  low.  with  a  wUd,  sobbing  note  m  her  voice 
that  thrilled  Philip,  the  girl  cried: 

"And  I  hate  it,  Pierre.    I  hate  it-hate  it- 

Philip  Stepped  out  boldly  from  the  rock. 
"  And  I  hate  it,  too,"  he  said. 


VI 

OCARCE  had  lie  spoken  when  he  would  have 
*^  given  much  to  have  recalled  his  words, 
wrung  from  his  lips  by  that  sobbing  note  of 
loneliness,  of  defiance,  of  half  pain  in  the  girl's 
voice.  It  was  the  same  note,  the  same  spirit 
crying  out  against  his  world  that  he  had  listened 
to  in  the  moaning  of  the  surf  as  it  labored  to 
carry  away  the  dead,  and  in  the  wind  that  sighed 
in  the  spruce-tops  below  the  mountain,  only  now 
it  was  the  spirit  speaking  through  a  human 
voice.  Every  fiber  in  his  body  vibrated  in 
response  to  it,  and  he  stood  with  bared  head, 
filled  with  a  wild  desire  to  make  these  people 
understand,  and  yet  startled  at  the  effect  which 
his  appearance  had  produced. 

The  girl  faced  him,  her  eyes  shining  with  sud- 
den fear.  Quicker  than  her  own  was  the  move- 
ment of  the  half-breed.  In  a  flash  he  was  upon 
his  feet,  his  dark  face  tense  with  action,  his  right 
hand  gripping  at  something  in  his  belt  as  he  bent 
toward  the  figure  in  the  center  of  the  rock.  His 
posture  was  that  of  an  animal  ready  to  spring. 
Close  beside  him  gleamed  the  white  fangs  of  the 
wolf-dog.     The  girl  leaned  over  and  twisted  her 

5S 


FLOWER   OF   THE    NORTH 

fingers  in  the  tawny  hair  that  bristled  on  the 
dog's  neck.  Philip  heard  her  speak,  but  she  did 
not  move  her  eyes  from  his  face.  Itj^was  the 
tableau  of  a  moment,  tense,  breathless.  The 
only  thing  that  moved  was  the  shimmer  of  steel. 
Philip  caught  the  gleam  of  it  under  the  half- 
breed's  hand. 

"Don't  do  that,  IVTsieur,"  he  said,  pomtmg  at 
the  other's  belt.     "I  am  sorry  that  I  disturbed 
you.     Sometimes   I    come    up    here— alone— to 
smoke  my  pipe  and  listen  to  the  sea  down  there. 
I  heard  you  say  that  you  hate  Churchill,  and  I 
hate  it.     That  is  why  I  spoke.** 
He  turned  to  the  girl. 
"I  am  sorry.     I  beg  your  pardon.'* 
He  looked  at  her  with  new  wonderment.    She 
had  tossed  back  her  loose  hair,  and  stood  tall  and 
straight  in  the  moonHght,  her  dark  eyes  gazmg 
at  him  now  calmly  and  without  affright.     She 
was  dressed  in  rich  yellow  buckskin,  as  soft  a3 
chamois.     Her  throat  was  baj?e.    A  deep  coUar 
of  lace  fell  ovct  her  shoulders.     One  hand,  raised 
to  her  breast,  revealed  a  wide  gauntlet  cuff  of 
red  or  purple  plush,  of  a  fashion  two  centuries 
old.    Her  lips   were  parted,   and  he  saw  the 
faintest  gleam  of  her  white  teeth,  the  quick  rismg 
and  fallmg  of  her  bosom.     He  had  spoken  di- 
rectly to  her,  yet  she  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard 
him.  .       ,, 

"You  startled  us,  that  is  all,  M'sieur,     said 
Pierre,  quietly.     His  English  waa  excellent,  and 

54 


FI.OWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

as  he  spoke  he  bowed  low  to  Philip.  "It  is  I 
whom  you  must  pardon,  M'sieur— for  betraymg 
so  much  caution." 

Philip  held  out  his  hand, 
"My   name   is   Whittemore— Philip   Whit*e- 
more,"  he  said.     "I'm  staying  at  Churchill  until 
the  ship  comes  in  and — and  I  hope  you'll  let  me 
sit  here  on  the  rock." 

For  an  instant  Pierre's  fingers  gripped  his  hand, 
fl-nd  he  bowed  low  again  like  a  courtier.  Philip 
saw  that  he,  too,  wore  the  same  big,  old-fashioned 
cuffs,  and  that  it  was  not  a  knife  that  hung  at 
his  belt,  but  a  short  rapier. 
«  "^^  ]  ^^  Pierre— Pierre  Couchee,"  he  said. 
"And  this— is  my  sister— Jeanne.  We  do  not 
l^ong  to  Fort  Churchill,  but  come  from  Fort 
o'  Grod,     Good  night,  M'sieur!'* 

The  girl  had  taken  a  step  back,  and  now  she 
swept  him  a  courtesy  so  low  that  her  fallen  hair 
streamed  over  her  shoulders.  She  spoke  no  word, 
but  passed  quickly  with  Pierre  up  the  rock,  and 
while  Philip  stood  stunned  and  speechless  they 
disappeared  swiftly  into  the  white  gloom  of  the 
night. 

Mutely  he  gazed  after  them.  For  a  long  time 
he  stood  staring  beyond  the  rocks,  marveling  at 
the  strangeness  of  this  thing  that  had  happened. 
An  hoiir  before  he  had  stood  with  bared  head 
over  the  ancient  dead  at  Churchill,  and  now,  on 
the  rock,  he  had  seen  the  resurrection  of  what  he 
had  dreamed  those  dead  to  be  in  life.     He  had 

65 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

never  seen  people  like  Pierre  and  Jeanne.  Thdp 
strange  dress,  the  rapier  at  Pierre's  side,  his 
courtly  bow,  the  low,  graceful  courtesy  that  the 
girl  had  made  him,  all  carried  him  back  to  the 
days  of  the  old  pictures  that  hung  in  the  factor's 
room  at  Churchill,  when  high-blooded  gallants 
came  into  the  wilderness  with  their  swords  at 
their  sides,  wearing  the  favors  of  court  ladies 
next  their  hearts.  Pierre,  standing  there  on  the 
rock,  with  his  hand  on  his  rapier,  might  have 
been  Grosellier  himself,  the  prince's  favorite,  and 
Jeanne — 

Something  white  on  the  rock  near  where  the 
girl  had  been  sitting  caught  Philip's  eyes.  In  a 
moment  he  held  in  his  fingers  a  small  handker- 
chief and  a  broad  ribbon  of  finely  knit  lace.  In 
her  haste  to  get  away  she  had  forgotten  these 
things.  He  was  about  to  run  to  the  crest  of  the 
cliff  and  call  loudly  for  Pierre  Couchee  when  he 
held  the  handkerchief  and  the  lace  close  to  his 
face  and  the  delicate  perfume  of  heliotrope 
stopped  him.  There  was  something  familiar 
about  it,  something  that  held  him  wondering 
and  mystified,  until  he  knew  that  he  had  lost 
the  opportunity  to  recall  Pierre  and  his  com- 
panion. He  looked  at  the  handkerchief  more 
closely.  It  was  a  dainty  fabric,  so  soft  that  it 
gave  barely  the  sensation  of  touch  when  he 
crushed  it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  For  a 
few  moments  he  was  puzzled  to  account  for 
the  filmy  strip  of  lace.     Then  the  truth  came 

56 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

to  him.  Jeanne  had  used  it  to  bind  hep 
hair! 

He  laughed  softly,  joyously,  as  he  wound  the 
bit  of  fabric  about  his  fingers  and  retraced  his 
steps  toward  Churchill.  Again  and  again  he 
pressed  the  tiny  handkerchief  to  his  face,  breath- 
ing of  its  sweetness;  and  the  action  suddenly 
stirred  his  memory  to  the  solution  of  its  mystery. 
It  was  this  same  sweetness  that  had  come  to  him 
on  the  night  that  he  had  looked  down  into  the 
beautiful  face  of  Eileen  Brokaw  at  the  Brokaw 
ball.  He  remembered  now  that  Eileen  Brokaw 
loved  heliotrope,  and  that  she  always  wore  a 
purple  heliotrope  at  her  white  throat  or  in  the 
gold  of  her  hair.  For  a  moment  it  struck  him 
as  singular  that  so  many  things  had  happened 
this  day  to  remind  him  of  Brokaw's  daughter. 
The  thought  hastened  his  steps.  He  was  anx- 
ious to  look  at  the  picture  again,  to  convince 
himself  that  he  had  been  mistaken.  Gregson 
was  asleep  when  he  re-entered  the  cabin.  The 
Kght  was  burning  low,  and  Philip  turned  up  the 
wick.  On  the  table  was  the  picture  as  Gregson 
had  left  it.  This  time  there  was  no  doubt. 
He  had  drawn  the  face  of  Eileen  Brokaw.  In  a 
spirit  of  jest  he  had  written  under  it,  "The  Wife 
of  Lord  Fitzhugh."     ' 

In  spite  of  their  absurdity  the  words  affected 
Philip  curiously.  Was  it  possible  that  Miss 
Brokaw  had  reached  Fort  Churchill  in  some 
Other  way  than  by  ship?    And,  if  not,  was  it 

5  67 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

possible  that  in  this  remote  corner  of  the  earth 
there  was  another  woman  who  resembled  her  so 
closely?     Philip   took  a   step  toward   Gregson, 
half  determined  to  awaken  him.    And  yet,  on 
second  thought,  he  knew  that  Gregson  could  not 
explain.     Even    if    the    artist   had   learned    of 
his  affair  with  Miss  Brokaw  and  had  secured  a 
picture  of  her  in  some  way,  he  would  not  pre- 
sume to  go  this  far.    He  was  convmced  that 
Gregson  had  drawn  the  picture  of  a  face  that  he 
had  seen  that  day.    Again  he  read  the  words 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sketch,  and  once  more  he 
experienced  thek  curious  effect  upon  him—an 
effect  which  it  was  unpossible  for  him  to  analyze 
even  m  his  own  mind. 

He  replaced  the  picture  upon  the  table  and  drew 
the  handkerchief  and  bit  of  lace  from  his  pocket. 
In  the  light  of  the  lamp  he  saw  that  both  were  as 
unusual  as  had  been  the  picturesque  dress  of  the 
giri  and  her  companion.     Even  to  his  mexpe- 
rienced  eyes  and  touch  they  gave  evidence  of  a 
richness  that  puzzled  him,  of  a  fashion  that  he 
had  never  seen.     They  were  of  exquisite  work- 
manship.    The  lace  was  of  a  delicate  ivory  color, 
iamtly  tinted  with  yellow.     The  handkerchief 
was  in  the  shape  of  a  heart,  and  in  one  corner  of 
it,  so  finely  wrought  that  he  could  barely  make 
out  the  silken  letters,  was  the  word  "Camille. 

The  scent  of  heliotrope  rose  more  strongly  m 
the  closed  room,  and  from  the  handkerchief 
Philip's  eyes  turned  to  fhst  face  of  Eileen  BrokaW 

5t 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

(ooking  at  him  from  out  o5  Gregson's  sketch* 
It  was  a  curious  coincidence.  He  reached  over 
and  placed  the  picture  face  down.  Then  he 
loaded  his  pipe,  and  sat  smoking,  his  vision 
traveling  beyond  the  table,  beyond  the  closed 
door  to  the  lonely  black  rock  where  he  had  come 
upon  Jeanne  and  Pierre.  Clouds  of  smoke  rose 
about  him,  and  he  half  closed  his  eyes.  He  saw 
the  girl  again,  as  she  stood  there;  he  saw  the 
moonlight  shining  in  her  hair,  the  dark,  startled 
beauty  of  her  eyes  as  she  turned  upon  him;  he 
heard  again  the  low  sobbing  note  in  her  voice  as 
she  cried  out  her  hatred  against  Churchill.  He' 
forgot  Eileen  Brokaw  now,  forgot  in  these  mor^ 
ments  all  that  he  and  Gregson  had  talked  of  that 
day.  His  schemes,  his  fears,  his  feverish  eager- 
ness to  begin  the  fight  against  his  enemies  died 
away  in  thoughts  of  the  beautiful  girl  who  had 
come  into  his  life  this  night.  It  seemed  to  him 
now  that  he  had  known  her  for  a  long  time,  that 
she  had  been  a  part  of  him  always,  and  that  it 
was  her  spirit  that  he  had  been  groping  and 
searching  for,  and  could  never  find.  For  the 
space  of  those  few  moments  on  the  cliff  she  had 
driven  out  the  emptiness  and  the  lonelmess  from 
his  heart,  and  there  filled  him  a  wild  desire  to 
make  her  understand,  to  talk  with  her,  to  stand 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Pierre  out  there  in  the 
night,  a  comrade. 

Suddenly  his  fingers  closed  tightly  over  the 
handkerchief.     He  turned  and  looked  steadily  afc 

59 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Gregson.  His  friend  was  sleeping,  with  his  face 
to  the  wall. 

Would  not  Pierre  return  to  the  rock  in  search 
of  these  articles  which  his  sister  had  left  behind? 
The  thought  set  his  blood  tingling.  He  would 
go  back — and  wait  for  Pierre.  But  if  Pierre  did 
not  return — until  to-morrow.'* 

He  laughed  softly  to  himself  as  he  drew  paper 
toward  him  and  picked  up  the  pencil  which 
Gregson  had  used.  For  many  minutes  he  wrote 
steadily.  When  he  had  done,  he  folded  what  he 
had  written  and  tied  it  in  the  handkerchief. 
The  strip  of  lace  with  which  Jeanne  had  bound 
her  hair  he  folded  gently  and  placed  in  his 
breast  pocket.  There  was  a  guilty  flush  in  his 
face  as  he  stole  silently  to  the  door.  What 
would  Gregson  say  if  he  knew  that  he — PhiS 
Whittemore,  the  man  whom  he  had  once  ideal- 
ized as  "The  Fighter,"  and  whom  he  believed  to 
be  proof  against  all  love  of  woman — was  doing 
this  thing.'*  He  opened  and  closed  the  door 
softly. 

At  least  he  would  send  his  message  to  these 
strange  people  of  the  wilderness.  They  would 
know  that  he  was  not  a  part  of  that  Churchill 
which  they  hated,  that  in  his  heart  he  had  ceased 
to  be  a  thing  of  its  breed.  He  apologized  again 
for  his  sudden  appearance  on  the  rock,  but  the 
apology  was  only  an  excuse  for  other  things 
which  he  wrote,  in  which  for  a  few  brief  moments 
he  bared  himself  to  those  whom  he  knew  would 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

understand,  and  asked  that  their  acquaintance 
might  be  continued.  He  felt  that  there  was 
something  almost  boyish  in  what  he  was  doing; 
and  yet,  as  he  hurried  over  the  ridge  and  down 
into  Churchill  again,  he  was  thrilled  as  no  other 
adventure  had  ever  thrilled  him  before.  As  he 
approached  the  cliff  he  began  to  fear  that  the 
half-breed  would  not  return  for  the  things  which 
Jeanne  had  left,  or  that  he  had  already  re- 
visited the  rock.  The  latter  thought  urged 
him  on  until  he  was  half  running.  The  crest 
of  the  cliff  was  bare  when  he  reached  it.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  He  had  been  gone  an 
hour. 

Where  the  moonlight  seemed  to  fall  brightest 
he  dropped  the  handkerchief,  and  then  slipped 
back  into  the  rocky  trail  that  led  to  the  edge  of 
the  Bay.  He  had  scarcely  reached  the  strip  of 
level  beach  that  lay  between  him  and  Churchill 
when  from  far  behind  him  there  came  the  long 
howl  of  a  dog.  It  was  the  wolf-dog.  He  knew 
it  by  the  slow,  dismal  rising  of  the  cry  and  the 
infinite  sadness  with  which  it  as  slowly  died 
away  until  lost  in  the  whisperings  of  the  for- 
est and  the  gentle  wash  of  the  sea.  Pierre 
was  returning.  He  was  coming  back  through 
the  forest.  Perhaps  Jeanne  would  be  with 
him. 

For  the  third  time  Philip  climbed  back  to  the 
great  moonlit  rock  at  the  top  of  the  cliff.  Eagerly 
he  faced  the  north,  whence  the  wailing  rry  of  the 

61 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

wolf-dog  had  come.  Then  he  turned  to  the  spot 
where  he  had  dropped  the  handkerchief,  and  his 
heart  gave  a  sudden  jump.  ,     v,     j 

I  There  was  nothing  on  the  rock.  The  hand' 
kerchief  was  gone  I 


vn 

PHILIP  stood  undecided,  his  ears  strained  'to 
catch  the  sHghtest  sound.  Ten  minutes 
had  not  elapsed  since  he  had  dropped  the  hand- 
kerchief. Pierre  could  not  have  gone  far  among 
the  rocks.  It  was  possible  that  he  was  cor  ^^aled 
somewhere  near  him  now.  Softly  he  called  his 
name. 

"Pierre — ^ho,  Pierre  Couch6e!" 

There  was  no  answer,  and  in  the  next  breath 
he  was  sorry  that  he  had  called.  He  went  si- 
lently down  the  trail.  He  had  come  to  the  edge 
of  Churchill  when  once  more  he  heard  the  howl 
of  the  dog  far  back  m  the  forest.  He  stopped 
to  locate  as  nearly  as  he  could  the  point  whence 
the  sound  came,  for  he  was  certain  now  that  the 
dog  had  not  returned  with  Pierre,  but  had  re- 
mained with  Jeanne,  and  was  howUng  from  their 

camp. 

Gregson  was  awake  and  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
his  bunk  when  Philip  entered  the  cabin. 

"Where  the  deuce  have  you  been?"  he  de- 
manded. "I  was  just  trying  to  make  up  my 
mind  to  go  out  and  hunt  for  you.  Stolen— lost 
—or  something  like  that?'* 

63 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"I've  been  thinking,"  said  Philip,  truth- 
fully. 

"So  have  I,"  said  Gregson.  "Ever  since  you 
came  back,  wrote  that  letter,  and  went  out 
again — " 

"You  were  asleep,"  corrected  Philip.  "I 
looked  at  you." 

"Perhaps  I  was — when  you  looked.  But  I 
have  a  hazy  recollection  of  you  sitting  there  at 
the  table,  writuig  Kke  a  fiend.  Anyway,  I've 
been  thinking  ever  since  you  went  out  of  the 
door,  and — I'd  like  to  read  that  Lord  Fitzhugh 
letter  again." 

Philip  handed  him  the  letter.  He  was  quite 
sure  from  his  friend's  manner  of  speaking  that 
he  had  seen  nothing  of  the  handkerchief  and  the 
lace. 

Gregson  seized  the  paper  lazily,  yawned,  and 
slipped  it  under  the  blanket  which  he  had 
doubled  up  for  a  pillow. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  keep  it.  for  a  few  days, 
Phil?"  he  asked. 

"Not  in  the  least,  if  you'll  tell  me  why  you 
want  it,"  said  Philip. 

"I  will — when  I  discover  a  reason  myself," 
replied  his  friend,  coolly,  stretching  himself  out 
again  in  the  bunk.  "  Remember  when  I  dreamed 
that  Carabobo  planter  was  sticking  a  knife  into 
you,  Phil? — and  the  next  day  he  tried  it?  Well, 
I've  had  a  funny  dream.  I  want  to  sleep  on 
this  letter.     I  may  want  to  sleep  on  it  for  a 

64 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

week.  Better  turn  in  if  you  expect  to  get  a 
wink  between  now  and  morning." 

For  haK  an  hour  after  he  had  undressed  and 
extinguished  the  light  Phihp  lay  awake  review- 
ing the  incidents  of  his  night's  adventure.  He 
was  certain  that  his  letter  was  in  the  hands  of 
Pierre  and  Jeanne,  but  he  was  not  so  sure  that 
they  would  respond  to  it.  He  haK  expected 
that  they  would  not,  and  yet  he  felt  a  deep  sense 
of  satisfaction  in  what  he  had  done.  If  he  met 
them  again  he  would  not  be  quite  a  stranger. 
And  that  he  would  meet  them  he  was  not  only 
confident,  but  determined.  If  they  did  not  ap- 
pear in  Fort  Churchill  he  would  hunt  out  their 
camp. 

He  found  himself  asking  a  dozen  questions, 
none  of  which  he  could  answer.  Who  was  this 
girl  who  had  come  like  a  queen  from  out  of  the 
wilderness,  and  this  man  who  bore  with  him 
the  manner  of  a  courtier?  Was  it  possible,  after 
all,  that  they  were  of  the  forests?  And  where 
was  Fort  o'  God?  He  had  never  heard  of  it 
before,  and  as  he  thought  of  Jeanne's  strange, 
rich  dress,  of  the  heliotrope-scented  handker- 
chief, of  the  old-fashioned  rapier  at  Pierre's  side, 
and  of  the  exquisite  grace  with  which  the  girl 
had  left  him  he  wondered  if  such  a  place  as  this 
Fort  o'  God  must  be  could  exist  in  the  heart  of 
the  desolate  northland.  Pierre  had  said  that 
they  had  come  from  Fort  o'  God.  But  were 
they  a  part  of  it? 

65 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

He  fell  asleep,  the  resolution  formed  in  hia 
mind  to  investigate  as  soon  as  he  fomid  the  op- 
portmiity.  There  would  surely  be  those  at 
Churchill  who  would  know  these  people;  if  not, 
they  would  know  of  Fort  o'  God. 

Philip  found  Gregson  awake  and  dressed 
when  he  rolled  out  of  his  bunk  a  few  hours  later. 
Gregson  had  breakfast  ready. 

"You're  a  good  one  to  have  company/* 
growled  the  artist.  "When  you  go  out  mooning 
again  please  take  me  along,  will  you?  Chuck 
your  head  in  that  pail  of  water  and  let's  eat. 
I'm  starved." 

Philip  noticed  that  his  companion  had  tacked 
the  sketch  against  one  of  the  logs  above  the 
table. 

"Pretty  good  for  imagination,  Greggy,"  he 
said,  nodding.  "Burke  wall  jump  at  that  if 
you  do  it  in  colors." 

"Burke  won't  get  it,"  replied  Gregson,  sober- 
ly, seating  himself  at  the  table.  "It  won't  be 
for  sale." 

"Why?" 

Gregson  waitec^  until  Philip  had  seated  him- 
self before  he  answered. 

"Look  here,  old  man— get  ready  to  laugh. 
Split  your  sides,  if  you  want  to.  But  it's  God's 
truth  that  the  girl  I  saw  yesterday  is  the  only 
girl  I've  ever  seen  that  I'd  be  willing  to  die  for!" 

"  To  be  sure,"  agreed  Philip.     *'  I  understand." 

Gregson  stared  at  him  in  siuprise. 

66 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

**Why  don't  you  laugh?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  not  a  laughing  matter,"  said  Philip.  "I 
say  that  I  understand.     And  I  do." 

Gregson  looked  from  Philip's  face  to  the  pic- 
ture. 
,     "Does  it — does  it  hit  you  that  way,  Phil?" 

**She  is  very  beautiful." 

"She  is  more  than  that,"  declared  Gregson, 
warmly.  "If  I  ever  looked  into  an  angel's  face 
It  was  yesterday,  Phil.  For  just  a  moment  I 
met  her  eyes — " 

"And  they  were — " 

"Wonderful!" 

"I  mean — the  color,"  said  Philip,  engaging 
himself  with  the  food. 

"They  were  blue  or  gray.  It  is  the  first  time 
I  ever  looked  into  a  woman's  eyes  without  being 
sure  of  the  color  of  them.  It  was  her  hair,  Phil 
— ^not  this  tinsel  sort  of  gold  that  makes  you 
wonder  if  it's  real,  but  the  kind  you  dream  about. 
You  may  think  me  a  loon,  but  I'm  going  to  find 
out  who  she  is  and  where  she  is  as  soon  as  I 
Iiave  done  with  this  breakfast." 

"And  Lord  Fitzhugh?" 

A  shadow  passed  over  Gregson's  face.  For 
a  few  moments  he  ate  in  silence.  Then  he  said : 
•'  *^  That's  what  kept  me  awake  after  you  had 
gone — thinking  of  Lord  Fitzhugh  and  this  girl. 
See  here,  Phil.  She  isn't  one  of  the  kind  up 
h^e.  There  was  breeding  and  blood  in  every 
inch  of  her,  and  what  I  am  wondering  is  if  these 

67 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

two  could  be  associated  in  any  way.  I  don't 
want  it  to  be  so.  But — it's  possible.  Beauti- 
ful young  women  like  ber  don't  come  traveling 
up  to  this  knob-end  of  the  earth  alone,  do  they,?'* 

Philip  did  not  pursue  the  subject.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  later  the  two  young  men  left  the 
cabin,  crossed  the  ridge,  and  walked  together 
down  into  Churchill.  Gregson  went  to  the  Com- 
pany's store,  while  Philip  entered  the  building 
occupied  by  Pearce.  Pearce  was  at  his  desk. 
He  looked  up  with  tired,  puffy  eyes,  and  his  fat 
hands  lay  limply  before  him.  Philip  knew  that 
he  had  not  been  to  bed.  His  oily  face  strove  to 
put  on  an  appearance  of  animation  and  business 
as  Philip  entered. 

Philip  produced  a  couple  of  cigars  and  took 
a  chair  opposite  him. 

"You  look  bushed,  Pearce,"  he  began.  "Busi- 
ness must  be  rushing.  I  saw  a  hght  in  your 
window  after  midnight,  and  I  came  within  an 
ace  of  calling.  Thought  you  wouldn't  like  to 
be  interrupted,  so  I  put  off  my  business  until 
this  morning." 

"Insomnia,"  said  Pearce,  huskily.  "I  can*t 
sleep.  Suppose  you  saw  me  at  work  through 
the  window.'*"  There  was  almost  an  eager  haste 
in  his  question. 

"Saw  nothing  but  the  light,"  replied  Philip, 
carelessly.  "You  know  this  country  pretty  well, 
don't  you,  Pearce.'*" 

"Been    'squatting'    on    prospects    for    eight 

68 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

years,  waiting  for  this  damned  railroad,"  said 
Pearce,  interlacing  his  thick  fingers.  "I  guess 
I  know  it!" 

"Then  you  can  undoubtedly  tell  me  the  loca- 
tion of  Fort  o'  God?" 

"Fort  o'  What?" 

"Fort  o'  God." 

Pearce  looked  blank. 

"It's  a  new  one  on  me,"  he  said,  finally. 
** Never  heard  of  it."  He  rose  from  his  chair 
and  went  over  to  a  big  map  hanging  against  the 
wall.  Studiously  he  went  over  it  with  the  point 
of  his  stubby  forefinger.  "This  is  the  latest 
from  the  government,"  he  continued,  with  his 
back  to  Philip,  "but  it  ain't  here.  There's  a 
God's  Lake  down  south  of  Nelson  House,  but 
that's  the  only  thing  with  a  God  about  it  north 
of  fifty-three." 

"It's  not  so  far  south  as  that,"  said  Philip, 
rising. 

Pearce's  little  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  shrewdly. 

"Never  heard  of  it,"  he  repeated.  "What 
sort  of  a  place  is  it,  a  post — " 

"I  have  no  idea,"  replied  Philip.  "I  came  for 
information  more  out  of  curiosity  than  anything 
else.  Perhaps  I  misunderstood  the  name.  I'm 
much  obliged." 

He  left  Pearce  in  his  chair  and  went  directly 
to  the  factor's  quarters.  Bludsoe,  chief  factor 
of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  in  the  far  north, 
could  give  him  no  more  information  than  had 

69 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Pearce.  He  had  never  heard  of  Fort  o*  God#' 
He  could  not  remember  the  name  of  Couchee. 
During  the  next  two  hours  Philip  talked  with 
French,  Indian,  and  half-breed  trappers,  and 
questioned  the  mail  runner,  who  had  come  in 
that  morning  from  the  south.  No  one  could  tell 
him  of  Fort  o'  God. 

Had  Pierre  hed  to  him?  His  face  flushed  with 
anger  as  this  thought  came  to  him.  In  the  next 
breath  he  assured  himself  that  Pierre  was  not  a 
man  who  would  lie.  He  had  measured  him  as 
a  man  who  would  fight,  and  not  one  who  would 
lie.  Besides,  he  had  voluntarily  given  the  in- 
formation that  he  and  Jeanne  were  from  Fort  o' 
God.     There  had  been  no  excuse  for  falsehood. 

He  purposely  directed  his  movements  so  that 
he  would  not  come  into  contact  with  Gregson, 
little  dreaming  that  his  artist  friend  was  working 
under  the  same  formula.  He  lunched  with  the 
factor,  and  a  little  later  went  boldly  back  to 
the  clijff  where  he  had  met  Jeanne  and  Pierre 
the  preceding  night.  Although  he  had  now 
come  to  expect  no  response  to  what  he  had  writ* 
ten,  he  carefully  examined  the  rocks  about  him. 
Then  he  set  out  through  the  forest  in  the  direc- 
tion from  which  had  come  the  howling  of  the 
wolf-dog. 

He  searched  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  but 
found  no  signs  of  a  recent  camp.  For  several 
miles  he  followed  the  main  trail  that  led  north- 
ward from  Fort  Churchill.    He  crossed  three 

70 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

times  tlirough  the  country  between  this  trail 
and  the  edge  of  the  Bay,  searching  for  smoke 
from  the  top  of  every  ridge  that  he  climbed, 
listening  for  any  sound  that  might  give  him  a 
clue.  He  visited  the  shack  of  an  old  half-breed 
deep  in  the  forest  beyond  the  cliff,  but  its  aged 
tenant  could  give  him  no  information.  He  had 
not  seen  Pierre  and  Jeanne,  nor  had  he  heard  the 
howling  of  their  dog. 

Tired  and  disappointed,  Philip  returned  to 
Churchill.  He  went  directly  to  his  cabin  and 
found  Gregson  waiting  for  him.  There  was  a 
curious  look  in  the  artist's  face  as  he  gazed 
questioningly  at  his  friend.  His  immaculate 
appearance  was  gone.  He  looked  like  one  who 
had  passed  through  an  uncomfortable  hour  or 
two.  Perspiration  had  dried  in  dirty  streaks  on 
his  face,  and  his  hands  were  buried  dejectedly  in 
his  trousers  pockets.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and 
stood  before  his  companion. 

"Look  at  me,  Phil — ^take  a  good  long  look," 
he  urged. 

Philip  stared. 

"Am  I  awake?"  demanded  the  artist.  "Do  I 
look  like  a  man  in  his  right  senses?  Eh,  tell 
me!" 

He  turned  and  pointed  to  the  sketch  hanging 
against  the  wall. 

"Did  I  see  that  girl,  or  didn't  I?"  he  went  on, 
not  waiting  for  Philip  to  answer.  "Did  I  dream 
of  seeing  her?    Eh?    By  thunder,  Phil—"    He 

71 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

whirled  upon  his  companion,  a  glow  of  excite- 
ment taking  the  place  of  the  fatigue  in  his  eyes. 
'I  couldn't  find  her  to-day.  I've  hunted  in 
every  shack  and  brush  heap  in  and  around 
Churchill.  I've  hunted  until  I'm  so  tired  I 
can  hardly  stand  up.  And  the  devil  of  it  is, 
I  can  find  no  one  else  who  got  more  tkan  a 
glimpse  of  her,  and  then  they  did  not  see  her 
as  I  did.  She  had  nothing  on  her  head  when  I 
saw  her,  but  I  remember  now  that  something  like 
a  heavy  veil  fell  about  her  shoulders,  and  that  she 
was  lifting  it  when  she  passed.  Anyway,  no 
one  saw  her  like — that."  He  pointed  to  the 
sketch.  "And  she's  gone — gone  as  completely 
as  though  she  came  in  a  flying-machine  and  went 
away  in  one.     She's  gone — unless — " 

"What.?" 

"Unless  she  is  in  concealment  right  here  in 
Churchill.     She's  gone — or  hiding." 

"You  have  reason  to  suspect  that  she  would 
be  hiding,"  said  Philip,  concealing  the  effect  of 
the  other's  words  upon  him. 

Gregson  was  uneasy.  He  lighted  a  cigarette, 
puffed  at  it  once  or  twice,  and  tossed  it  through 
the  open  door.  Suddenly  he  reached  ih  his  coat 
pocket  and  pulled  out  an  envelope. 

"Deuce  take  it,  if  I  know  whether  I  have  or 
not!"  he  cried.  "But — look  here,  Phil.  I  saw 
the  mail  come  in  to-day,  and  I  walked  up  as  bold 
as  you  please  and  asked  if  there  was  anything  for 
Lord  Fitzhugh.     I  showed  the  other  letter,  and 

72 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

said  I  was  Fitzhugh's  agent.     It  went.     And  I 
got— this!" 

Philip  snatched  at  the  letter  which  Gregson 
held  out  to  him.  His  fingers  trembled  as  he 
mifolded  the  single  sheet  of  paper  which  he  drew 
forth.    Across  it  was  written  a  single  line: 

Don't  lose  an  hour.     Strike  now. 

There  was  nothing  more,  except  a  large  ink 
blot  under  the  words.  The  envelope  was  ad- 
dressed in  the  same  hand  as  the  one  he  had 
previously  received.  The  men  stared  into  each 
other's  face. 

"It's  singular,  that's  all,"  pursued  Gregson. 
"Those  words  are  important.  The  writer  ex- 
pects that  they  will  reach  Lord  Fitzhugh  im- 
mediately, and  as  soon  as  he  gets  them  you  can 
look  for  war.  Isn't  that  their  significance.'^  I 
repeat  that  it  is  singular  this  girl  should  come 
here  so  mysteriously,  and  disappear  still  more 
so,  just  at  this  psychological  moment;  and  it  is 
still  more  puzzling  when  you  take  into  considera- 
tion the  fact  that  two  hours  before  the  runner 
came  in  from  the  south  another  person  inquired 
for  Lord  Fitzhugh's  mail!" 

Philip  started. 

"And  they  told  you  this?" 

"Yes.  It  was  a  man  who  asked — a  stranger. 
He  gave  no  name  and  left  no  word.  Now,  if  it 
should  happen  to  be  the  man  who  was  with  the 

6  78 


I^-LOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

girl  when  I  saw  her— and  we  can  find  Wm-weVe 
as  good  as  got  this  Lord  Fitzhugh.  If  we  don  t 
find  him-and  mighty  soon-its  up  to  us.^^ 
start  for  your  camps  and  put  them  mto  fightmg 
shape.     See  the  point?"  | 

"But  we've  got  the  letter,"  said  Philip.  Fitz-1 
hugh  won't  receive  the  final  word,  and  that  wiU 
delay  whatever  plot  he  has  ready  to  spring. 

"My   dear   Phil,"    said   Gregson,   sottly.      1 
always  said  that  you  were  the  fighter  and  I  the 
diplomat,  yours  the  brawn  and  mine  the  bram. 
Don't  you  see  what  this  means?    I'U  gamble 
my  right  hand  that  these  very  words  have  been 
sent  to  Lord  Fitzhugh  at  two  or  three  different 
points,  so  that  they  would  be  sure  of  reaching 
him.     I'm  just  as  positive  that  he  has  already 
received  a  copy  of  the  letter  which  we  have^ 
Mark  my  words,  it's  catch  Lord  Fitzhugh  withm 
the  next  few  days— or  fight!" 
Philip  sat  down,  breathing  teavily.^^ 
"I'll   send  word   to   MacDougaU,     he  saia. 
"But  I— I  must  wait  for  the  ship!"  ^  ^ 

"Why  not  leave  word  for  Brokaw  and  ]om 

MacDougaU?"  .     ,  u  r    .^ 

"Because  when  the  ship  comes  ml  believe 
that  a  large  part  of  this  mystery  will  be  cleared 
up,"  repHed  Philip.  "It  is  necessary  that  I  re- 
main here.  That  will  give  us  a  few  days  in 
which  to  make  a  further  search  for  these  people. 

Gregson  did  not  urge  the  point,  but  replaced 
the  second  letter  in  his  pocket  with  the  first. 

74 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

During  the  evening  he  remained  at  the  cabin. 
Phihp  returned  to  Churchill.  For  an  hour  he 
sat  among  the  ruins  of  the  old  fort,  striving  to 
bring  some  sort  of  order  out  of  the  chaos  of 
events  that  had  occurred  during  the  past  few 
days.  He  was  almost  convinced  that  he  ought 
to  reveal  all  that  he  knew  to  Gregson,  and  yet 
several  reasons  kept  him  from  doing  so.  If  Miss 
Brokaw  was  on  the  London  ship  when  it  arrived 
at  Churchill,  there  would  be  no  necessity  of  dis- 
closing that  part  of  his  own  history  which  he 
was  keeping  secret  within  himself.  If  Eileen 
was  not  on  the  ship  her  absence  would  be  suflS- 
cient  proof  to  him  that  she  was  in  or  near  Church- 
ill, and  in  this  event  he  knew  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  keep  from  associating  with 
her  movements  not  only  those  of  Lord  Fitz- 
hugh,  but  also  those  of  Jeanne  and  Pierre  and 
of  Brokaw  himself.  He  could  see  but  two  things 
to  do  at  present,  wait  and  watch.  If  Miss 
Brokaw  was  not  with  her  father,  he  would  take 
Gregson  fully  into  his  confidence. 

The  next  morning  he  despatched  a  messenger 
with  a  letter  for  MacDougall,  at  Blind  Indian 
Lake,  warning  him  to  be  on  his  guard  and  to  pre- 
pare the  long  line  of  sub-stations  for  possible  at- 
tack.  All  this  day  Gregson  remained  in  the  cabin. 

"It  won't  do  for  me  to  make  myself  too  evi- 
dent," he  explained.  "I've  called  for  Lord  Fitz- 
hugh's  mail,  and  I'd  better  lie  as  low  as  possible 
until  the  corn  begins  to  pop." 

7fi 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Philip  again  searched  the  forests  to  the  north 
and  west  with  the  hope  of  finding  some  trace  of 
Pierre  and  Jeanne,     The  forest  people  were  be- 
ginning to  come  into  Churcwil  from  all  du-ec- 
tions  to  be  present  at  the  big  event  of  the  year— 
the  arrival  of  the  London  ship— and  PhiUp  made 
inquiries  on  every  trail.     No  one  had  seen  those 
whom  he  described.     The  fourth  and  fifth  days 
passed  without  any  developments.     So  far  as 
he  could  discover  there  was  no  Fort  o'  God,  no 
Jeanne  and  Pierre  Couchee.     He  wa^  completely 
baffled.     The  sixth  day  he  spent  m  the  cabin 
with  Gregson.     On  the  morning  of  the  seventh 
there  came  from  far  out  over  the  Bay  the  hoUow 
booming  of  a  cannon. 

It  was  the  signal  which  for  two  hundred  years 
the  ships  from  over  the  sea  had  given  to  the  peo- 
ple of  Churchill.  i  ^  •  i  j 
By  the  time  the  two  young  men  haxl  tmished 
their  breakfasts  and  cHmbed  to  the  top  of  the 
ridge  overlooking  the  Bay,  the  vessel  had  dropped 
anchor  half  a  mile  off  shore,  where  she  rode 
safe  from  the  rocks  at  low  tide.  Along  the 
shore  below  them,  where  Churchill  lay,  the 
forest  people  were  gathered  in  silent,  waitmg 
groups.  Philip  pointed  to  the  factor's  big  York 
boat,  ah-eady   two -thirds   of   the   way  to  the 

ship.  „  ,         . , 

"  We  should  have  gone  with  Bludsoe,  he  said. 
*'Brokaw  will  think  this  a  shabby  reception  on 
ou-  part,  and  Miss  Brokaw  won't  be  half  flat- 

w 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

tered.  We'll  go  down  and  get  a  good  position 
on  the  pier." 

Fifteen  minutes  later  they  were  thrusting 
themselves  through  the  crowd  of  men,  women, 
children,  and  dogs  congregated  at  the  foot  of  the 
long  stone  pier  alongside  which  the  ship  would 
lie  for  two  or  three  hours  at  each  high  tide. 
Phihp  stopped  among  a  number  of  Crees  and 
half-breeds,  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon 
Gregson's  arm. 

"This  is  near  enough,  if  you  don't  want  to 
make  yourself  conspicuous,"  he  said. 

The  York  boat  was  returning.  Philip  pulled 
a  cigar  from  his  pocket  and  lighted  it.  He  felt 
his  heart  throbbing  excitedly  as  the  boat  drew 
nearo*.  He  looked  at  Gr^son.  The  artist  was 
taking  short,  quick  puffs  on  his  cigarette,  and 
Philip  wondered  at  the  evident  eagerness  with 
which  he  was  watching  the  approaching  craft. 

Until  the  boat  ran  close  up  under  the  pier  its 
sail  hid  the  occupants.  While  the  canvas  still 
fluttered  in  the  light  wind  Bludsoe  sprang  from 
the  bow  out  upon  the  rocks  with  a  rope.  Three 
or  four  of  his  men  followed.  With  a  rattle  of 
blocks  and  rings  the  sheet  dropped  like  a  huge 
white  curtain,  and  Philip  took  a  step  forward, 
scarce  restraining  the  exclamation  that  forced 
itself  to  his  lii>s  at  the  picture  which  it  revealed. 
Standing  on  the  broad  rail,  her  sl^ider  form 
poised  for  the  quidk  upward  step,  one  hand  ex- 
tended to  Bludsoe,  was  Eileen  Brokaw!    In  an«- 

77 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

other  instant  she  was  upon  the  pier,  facing  the 
strange  people  before  her,  while  her  father  clam- 
bered out  of  the  boat  behind.  There  was  a  smile 
of  expectancy  on  her  lips  as  she  scanned  the  dark, 
silent  faces  of  the  forest  people.  Philip  knew 
that  she  was  looking  for  him.  His  pulse  quick- 
ened. He  turned  for  a  moment  to  see  the  effect 
of  the  girFs  appearance  upon  Gregson. 

The  artist's  two  hands  had  gripj>ed  his  arm. 
They  closed  now  until  his  fingers  were  like  cords 
of  steel.  His  face  was  white,  his  lips  set  into 
thin  lines.  For  a  breath  he  stood  thus,  while 
Miss  Brokaw's  scrutiny  traveled  nearer  to  them* 
Then,  suddenly,  he  released  his  hold  and  darted 
back  among  the  half-breeds  and  Indians,  his  face 
tisming  to  Philip's  in  one  quick,  warning  appeaL 

He  was  not  a  moment  too  soon,  for  scarce  had 
he  gone  when  Miss  Brokaw  caught  sight  of 
Philip's  tall  form  at  the  foot  of  the  pier.  Philip 
did  not  see  the  signal  which  she  gave  him.  He 
was  staring  at  the  line  of  faces  ahead  of  him. 
Two  people  had  worked  their  way  through  that 
line,  and  suddenly  every  muscle  in  his  body  be- 
came tense  with  excitement  and  joy.  They  were 
Pierre  and  Jeanne! 

He  caught  his  breath  at  what  happened  theur 
He  saw  Jeanne  falter  for  a  mom^it.  He  noticed 
that  she  was  now  dressed  like  the  others  about 
her,  and  that  Pierre,  who  stood  at  her  shoulder, 
was  no  longer  the  fine  gentleman  of  the  rock. 
The  half-breed  bent  over  her,  as  if  whispering 

78 


FLOWER   OP    THE    NORTH 

to  her,  and  then  Jeanne  ran  out  from  those  about 
her  to  Eileen,  her  beautiful  face  flushed  with j'oy 
and  welcome  as  she  reached  out  her  arms  to  the 
other  woman.  Philip  saw  a  sudden  startled  look 
leap  into  Miss  Brokaw's  face,  but  it  was  gone 
as  quickly  as  it  appeared.  She  stared  at  the 
forest  girl,  drew  herself  haughtily  erect,  and,  with 
a  word  which  he  could  not  hear,  turned  to  Blud-  ' 
see  and  her  father.  For  an  instant  Jeanne  stood 
as  if  some  one  had  struck  her  a  blow.  Then, 
slowly,  she  turned.  The  flush  was  gone  from 
her  face.  Her  beautiful  mouth  was  quivering, 
and  Philip  fancied  that  he  could  hear  the  low 
sobbing  of  her  breath.  With  *  cry  in  which  he 
uttered  no  name,  but  which  was  meant  for  her, 
he  sprang  forward  into  the  clear  space  of  the 
pier.  She  saw  him,  and  darted  back  among  her 
people.  He  would  have  followed,but  MissBrokaw 
was  coming  to  him  now,  her  hand  held  out  to  him, 
and  a  step  behind  were  Brokaw  and  the  factor. 

"Philip!"  she  cried. 

He  spoke  no  word  as  he  crushed  her  hand. 
The  hot  grip  of  his  fingers,  the  deep  flush  in  hia 
face,  was  interpreted  by  her  as  a  welcome  which 
it  did  not  require  speech  to  strengthen.  He- 
shook  hands  with  Brokaw,  and  as  the  three  fol- 
lowed after  the  factor  his  eyes  sought  vainly 
for  Pierre  and  Jeanne. 

They  were  gone,  and  he  felt  suddenly  a  thrill 
of  repugnance  at  the  gentle  pressure  of  Eileea 
Brok&w's  hand  upon  his  arm. 

7» 


nn 

PHILIP  did  not  see  the  hundred  staring  eyes 
that  followed  in  wonderment  the  tall, 
beautiful  girl  who  walked  at  his  side.  He  knew 
that  Miss  Brokaw  was  talking  and  laughing, 
and  that  he  was  nodding  his  head  and  answering 
her,  while  his  brain  raged  for  an  idea  that  would 
give  him  an  excuse  for  leaving  her  to  follow 
Jeanne  and  Pierre.  The  facts  that  Gregson  had 
left  him  so  strangely,  that  Eileen  had  come  with 
her  father,  and  that,  instead  of  clearing  up  the 
mystery  in  which  they  were  so  deeply  involved, 
the  arrival  of  the  London  ship  had  even  more 
hopelessly  entangled  them,  were  forgotten  for  the 
moment  in  the  desire  to  intercept  Jeanne  and 
Pierre  before  they  could  leave  Churchill.  Miss 
Brokaw  herself  unconsciously  gave  him  the  op- 
portunity for  which  he  was  seeking. 

"You  don't  look  very  happy,  Philip,"  she  ex- 
claimed, in  a  chiding  voice,  meant  only  for  his 
ears.  "I  thought — ^perhaps — ^my  coming  would 
make  you  glad." 

Philip  caught  eagerly  at  the  half  question  in 
her  voice. 

"I  feared  you  wou'd  notice  it,"  he  said,  quickly. 

80 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  think  me  indifferent 
because  I  did  not  go  out  to  meet  you  in  the 
boat,  and  because  I  stood  hidden  at  the  end  of 
the  pier  when  you  landed.  But  I  was  looking 
for  a  man.  I  have  been  hunting  for  him  for 
a  long  time.  And  I  saw  his  face  just  as  we  came 
through  the  crowd.  That  is  why  I  am — am 
rattled,"  he  laughed.  "Will  you  excuse  me  if  I 
go  back.f^  Can  you  find  some  excuse  for  the 
others.'*  I  will  return  in  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
you  will  not  say  that  I  am  unhappy." 

Miss  Brokaw  drew  her  hand  from  his  arm. 

"  Surely  I  will  excuse  you,"  she  cried.  "  Hurry, 
or  you  may  lose  him.  I  would  like  to  go  with 
you  if  it  is  going  to  be  exciting." 

Philip  turned  to  Brokaw  and  the  factor,  who 
were  close  behind  them. 

*'I  am  compelled  to  leave  you  here,"  he  ex- 
plained. "I  have  excused  myself  to  Miss 
Brokaw,  and  will  rejoin  you  almost  imme- 
diately." 

He  lost  no  time  in  hurrying  back  to  the  shore 
of  the  Bay.  As  he  had  expected,  Jeanne  and 
her  companion  were  no  longer  in  sight.  There 
was  only  one  direction  in  which  they  could  have 
disappeared  so  quickly,  and  this  was  toward  the 
cHff.  Once  hidden  by  the  fringe  of  forest,  he 
hastened  his  steps  until  he  was  almost  running. 
He  had  reached  the  base  of  the  huge  mass  of 
rock  that  rose  up  from  the  sea,  when  down  the 
n^M-row  trail  that  led  to  the  cliff  there  came  a 

81 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

figure  to  meet  him.  It  was  an  Indian  boy,  and 
he  advanced  to  question  him.  If  Jeanne  and 
Pierre  had  passed  that  way  the  boy  must  surely 
have  seen  them. 

Before  he  had  spoken  the  lad  ran  toward  him, 
holding  out  something  in  his  hand.  The  ques- 
tion on  Philip's  lips  changed  to  an  exclamation 
of  joy  when  he  recognized  the  handkerchief 
which  he  had  dropped  upon  the  rock  a  few  nights 
before,  or  one  so  near  like  it  that  he  could  not 
have  told  them  apart.  It  was  tied  into  a  knot, 
and  he  felt  the  crimipling  of  paper  imder  the 
pressure  of  his  fingers.  He  almost  tore  the  bit 
of  lace  and  linen  in  his  eagerness  to  rescue  the 
paper,  which  a  moment  later  he  held  in  his  fin- 
gers. Three  short  lines,  written  in  a  fine,  old- 
fashioned  hand,  were  all  that  it  held  for  him. 
But  they  were  sufficient  to  set  his  heart  beating 
wildly. 

Will  Monsieur  come  to  the  top  ctf  the  rock  to-night, 
some  time  between  the  hours  of  nine  and  ten. 

There  was  no  signature  to  the  note,  but  Philip 
knew  that  only  Jeanne  could  have  written  it, 
for  the  letters  were  almost  of  miscroscopic  small- 
ness,  as  delicate  as  the  bit  of  lace  in  which  they 
had  been  delivered,  and  of  a  quaintness  of  style 
which  added  stiU  more  to  the  bewildering  mys- 
tery which  already  surrounded  these  people.  He 
read  the  lines  half  a  dozen  times,  and  then 

82 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

turned  to  find  that  the  Indian  boy  was  slipping 
away  through  the  rocks. 

"Here — ^you,"  he  commanded,  in  English. 
•*Come  back!" 

The  boy's  white  teeth  gleamed  in  a  laugh  as 
lie  waved  his  hand  and  leaped  farther  away. 
From  Philip  his  eyes  shifted  in  a  quick,  search- 
ing glance  to  the  top  of  the  cliff.  In  a  flash 
Philip  followed  its  direction.  He  understood 
the  meaning  of  the  look.  From  the  chff  Jeanne 
and  Pierre  had  seen  his  approach,  and  their 
meeting  with  the  Indian  boy  had  made  it  pos- 
sible for  them  to  intercept  him  in  this  manner. 
They  were  probably  looking  down  upon  him  now, 
and  in  the  gladness  of  the  moment  Philip  laughed 
up  at  the  bare  rocks  and  waved  his  cap  above 
his  head  as  a  signal  of  his  acceptance  of  the 
strange  invitation  he  had  received. 

Vaguely  he  wondered  why  they  had  set  the 
meeting  for  that  night,  when  in  three  or  four 
minutes  he  could  have  joined  them  up  there  in 
broad  day.  But  the  central  tangle  of  the  mystery 
that  had  grown  up  about  him  during  the  past 
few  days  was  too  perplexing  to  embroider  with 
such  a  minor  detail  as  this,  and  he  turned  back 
toward  Churchill  with  the  feeling  that  every- 
thing was  working  in  his  favor.  During  the  next 
few  hours  he  would  clear  up  the  tangle,  and  in 
addition  to  that  he  would  meet  Jeanne  and 
Pierre.  It  was  the  thought  of  Jeanne,  and  not 
of  the  surprises  which  he  was  about  to  explain, 

83 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

that  stirred  his  blood  as  he  hurried  back  to  the 

Fort. 

It  was  his  intention  to  return  to  Eileen  and 
her  father.  But  he  changed  this.  He  would 
first  hunt  up  Gregson  and  begin  his  work  there. 
He  knew  that  the  artist  would  be  expecting  him, 
and  he  went  directly  to  the  cabin,  escaping 
notice  by  following  along  the  fringe  of  the  forest. 

Gregson  was  pacing  back  and  forth  across  the 
cabin  floor  when  Phihp  arrived.  His  steps  were 
quick  and  excited.  His  hands  were  thrust  deep 
in  his  trousers  jxjckets.  The  butts  of  innumer- 
able half-smoked  cigarettes  lay  scattered  under 
his  feet.  He  ceased  his  restless  movement  upon 
his  companion's  interruption,  and  for  a  moment 
or  two  gazed  at  Philip  in  blank  silence. 

"Well,"  he  said,  at  last,  "have  you  got  any- 
thing  to  say?'* 

"Nothing,"  said  Philip.  "It's  beyond  me, 
Greggy.  For  Heaven's  sake  give  me  an  ex- 
planation!" 

There  was  nothing  womanish  in  the  hard  lines 
of  Gregson's  face  now.  He  spoke  with  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  sneer. 

"You  knew— all  the  time,"  he  said,  coldly. 
"You  knew  that  Miss  Brokaw  and  the  girl 
whom  I  drew  were  one  and  the  same  person. 
What  was  the  object  of  your  Httle  sensation?" 

Philip    ignored    his    question.     He    stepped 

quickly  up  to  Gregson  and  seized  him  by  the 

arm. 

84 


FLOWER   OF   THE    NORTH 

"It  is  impossible!"  he  cried,  in  a  low  vcMce. 
"They  cannot  be  the  same  person.  That  ship 
out  there  has  not  touched  land  since  she  left 
Halifax.  Until  she  hove  in  sight  ofif  Churchill 
she  hasn't  been  within  two  hundred  miles  of  a 
coast  this  side  of  Hudson's  Strait.  Miss  Brokaw 
is  as  new  to  this  country  as  you.  It  is  beyond 
all  reason  to  suppose  anything  else." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Gregson,  quietly,  "it  was 
Miss  Brokaw  whom  I  saw  the  other  day,  and  that 
is  Miss  Brokaw's  picture." 

He  pointed  to  the  sketch,  and  freed  his  arm 
to  Kght  another  cigarette.  There  was  a  peculiar 
tone  of  finality  in  his  voice  which  warned  Philip 
that  no  amount  of  logic  or  arguing  on  his  part 
would  change  his  friend's  belief.  Gregscm  looked 
at  him  over  his  lighted  match. 

"It  was  Miss  Brokaw,"  he  said  again.  "Per- 
haps  it  is  within  reason  to  suppose  that  she  came 
to  Churchill  m  a  balloon,  dropped  into  town  for 
luncheon,  and  departed  in  a  balloon,  descending 
by  some  nuraculous  chance  aboard  the  ship  that 
was  bringing  her  father.  However  it  may  have 
happened,  she  was  in  Churchill  a  few  days  ago. 
On  that  hypothesis  I  am  going  to  work,  and  as 
a  consequence  I  am  gomg  to  ask  you  for  the 
indefinite  loan  of  the  Lord  Fitzhugh  letter.  Will 
you  give  me  your  word  to  say  nothing  of  that 
letter— for  a  few  days?" 

"It  is  almost  necessary  to  show  it  to  Brokaw,** 
tesitated  PhiHp. 

8S 


FLOWER   OF   THE   NORTH 

"  Almost-but  not  quite,"  Gregson  caught  Mm 
UD     "Brokaw   knows   the   seriousness   of   the 
Suation  without  that  letter.    See  tere,  PhJ- 
you  go  out  and  fight,  and  let  me  ta-fle  «ns  end 
^f  the  business.    I>on't  reveal  me  to  the  B.^ 
kaws.    I  don't  want  to  me^t-tef- yf.  thougH 
G  Jknows  if  it  wasn't  for  -y  co»f°-^^  *f  ^ 
V-     t^r-  Arnii  I'd  SO  over  there  with  you  ttiis 
^ite    ^S^w^fvenmorebeautifulth^when 

'  <'The:  A^'t a  difference."  laughed  PhiHp. 
" ''^of  a"  difference,  but  a  little  better  view  » 
'^""Now.i^  wet^t  only  find  the  other  girLwhat 
a  mess  you'd  be  in,  Greggy!  By  George,  but 
tin??  beginning  to  have  its  humorous  as  well 
S^itrtSc  s^e.  I'd  gi-  a  thousand  doUa» 
to  have  this  other  golden-haired  beauty  appeal 

"^I'U^eTttousand  if  you  produce  her."  re- 

*"  "  Goo'^^Mr^ghed  Philip,  holding  out  a  hand. 
•TU    report    again    this     afternoon    or    to- 

"'inwardly  he  felt  himself  in  no  humorous  mood 
as  he  retraced  his  steps  to  Churchill.  He  tod 
thought  to  begin  his  work  of  clearmg  up  toe 
puzzfing  situation  with  Gregson,  and  Gregson 
had  faUed  him  completely  by  his  persistence  m 
toe  beUef  that  Miss  Brokaw  was  toe  girl  who* 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

face  lie  had  seen  more  than  a  week  before.    Was 
it  possible,  after  all,  that  the  ship  had  touched  at 
some  point  up  the  coast?    The  supposition  was 
preposterous.     Yet  before  rejoining  the  Brokaws 
he  sought  out  the  captain  and  found  that  the 
company's  vessel  had  come  directly  from  Halifax 
without  a  change  or  stop  in  her  regular  course. 
The  word  of  the  company's  captain  cleared  up 
his  doubts  in  one  direction;    it  mystified  him 
more  than  ever  in  another.    He  was  convinced 
that  Gregson  had  not  seen  Miss  Brokaw  mitil 
that  morning.     But  who  was  Eileen's  double? 
Where  was  she  at  this  moment?    What  peculiar 
combination  of  circumstance  had  drawn  them 
both  to  Churchill  at  this  particularly  sigm'ficant 
time?^  It  was  impossible  for  him  not  to  associate 
the  girl  whom  Gregson  had  encountered,  and 
who  so  closely  resembled  Eileen,  with  Lord  Fitz- 
hugh  and  the  plot  against  his  company.    And 
it  struck  him  with  a  certain  feeling  of  dread  that, 
if  his  suspicions  were  true,  Jeanne  and  Pierre 
must  also  be  mixed  up  in  the  affair.     For  had 
not  Jeanne,  in  her  error,  greeted  Eileen  as  though 
she  were  a  dear  friend? 

He  went  directly  to  the  factor's  house,  and 
knocked  at  the  door  opening  into  the  rooms  oc- 
cupied by  Brokaw  and  his  daughter.  Brokaw 
admitted  him,  and  at  Philip's  searching  glance 
about  the  room  he  nodded  toward  a  closed  inner 
door  and  said: 

"Eileen  is  resting.    It's  been  a  hard  trip  od 

'8^ 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

her,  Phil,  and  she  hasn't  slept  for  two  consecu- 
tive nights  since  we  left  Halifax." 

Philip's  keen  glance  told  him  that  Brokaw  him- 
self had  not  slept  much.  The  promoter's  eyes 
were  heavy,  with  little  puffy  bags  under  them. 
But  otherwise  he  betrayed  no  signs  of  unrest 
or  lack  of  rest.  He  motioned  Philip  to  a  chair 
close  to  a  huge  fireplace  in  which  a  pile  of  birch 
was  leaping  into  flame,  offered  him  a  cigar,  and 
plunged  immediately  into  business. 

"It's  hell,  Philip,"  he  said,  in  a  hard,  quiet 
voice,  as  though  he  were  restraining  an  outburst 
of  passion  with  effort.  "In  another  three  months 
we'd  have  been  on  a  working  basis,  earning 
dividends.  I've  even  gone  to  ^he  pw)int  of  mak- 
ing contracts  that  show  us  five  hundred  per  cent, 
profit.     And  now — this!" 

He  dashed  his  half-burned  cigar  into  the  fire, 
and  viciously  bit  the  end  from  another. 

Philip  was  lighting  his  own,  and  there  was  a 
moment's  silence,  broken  sharply  by  the  fin- 
ancier. 

"Are  your  men  prepared  to  fight.'''* 

**If  it's  necessary,"  replied  Philip.  "We  can 
at  least  depend  upon  a  part  of  them,  especially 
the  men  at  Blind  Indian  Lake.  But — this  fight- 
ing—  Why  do  you  think  it  will  come  to  that.'* 
If  there  is  fighting  we  are  ruined." 

"If  the  people  rise  against  us  in  a  body — yes, 
we  are  ruined.  That  is  what  we  must  not  per- 
mit.    It  is  our  one  chance.     I  have  done  every- 

88 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

thing  in  my  power  to  beat  this  movement  against 
us  down  south,  and  have  failed.  Our  enemies 
are  completely  masked.  They  have  won  popu- 
lar sentiment  through  the  newspapers.  Their 
next  move  is  to  strike  directly  at  us.  Whatever 
is  to  happen  will  happen  soon.  The  plan  is  to 
attack  us,  to  destroy  our  property,  and  the  move- 
ment is  to  be  advertised  as  a  retaliation  for  hei- 
nous outrages  perpetrated  by  our  men.  It  is 
possible  that  the  attack  will  not  be  by  northerners 
alone,  but  by  men  brought  in  for  the  purpose. 
The  result  will  be  the  same — if  it  succeeds.  The 
attack  is  planned  to  be  a  surprise.  Our  one 
chance  is  to  meet  it,  to  completely  frustrate  it — 
to  strike  an  overwhelming  blow,  and  to  capture 
enough  of  our  assailants  to  give  us  the  evidence 
we  must  have." 

Brokaw  was  excited.  He  emphasized  his 
words  with  angry  sweeps  of  his  arms.  He  clench- 
ed his  fists,  and  his  face  grew  red.  He  was  not 
like  the  old,  shrewd,  indomitable  Brokaw,  com- 
pletely master  of  himself,  never  revealing  him- 
self beyond  the  unruffled  veil  of  his  self-possession, 
and  Philip  was  surprised.  He  had  expected  that 
Brokaw's  wily  brain  would  bring  with  it  half  a 
dozen  schemes  for  the  quiet  undoing  of  their 
enemies.  And  now  here  was  Brokaw,  the  man 
who  always  hedged  himself  in  with  legal  breast- 
works— who  never  revealed  himself  to  the  shot 
of  his  enemies — enlisting  himself  for  a  fight  in 
the  open!  Philip  had  told  Gregson  that  there 
7  89 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

would  be  a  fight.  He  was  firmly  convinced  that 
there  would  be  a  fight.  But  he  had  never  be- 
lieved that  Brokaw  would  come  to  join  in  it. 
He  leaned  toward  the  financier,  his  face  flushed 
a  little  by  the  warmth  of  the  fire  and  by  the 
knowledge  that  Brokaw  was  reHnquishing  the 
situation  entirely  into  his  hands.  If  it  came  to 
fighting,  he  would  win.  He  was  confident  of 
himself  there.     But — 

"What  will  be  the  result  if  we  win?"  he  asked. 

**  If  we  secure  those  who  will  give  the  evidence 
we  need — evidence  that  the  movement  against  us 
is  a  plot  to  destroy  our  company,  the  government 
will  stand  by  us,"  replied  Brokaw.  "I  have 
sounded  the  situation  there.  I  have  filed  a 
formal  declaration  to  the  effect  that  such  a 
movement  is  on  foot,  and  have  received  a  prom- 
ise that  the  commissioner  of  police  will  investi- 
gate the  matter.  But  before  that  happens  our 
enemies  will  strike.  There  is  no  time  for  red 
tape  or  investigations.  We  must  achieve  our 
own  salvation.  And  to  achieve  that  we  must 
fight." 

"And  if  we  lose?" 

Brokaw  lifted  his  hands  and  shoulders  with  a 
significant  gesture. 

"The  moral  effect  will  be  tremendous,"  he 
said.  "It  will  be  shown  that  the  entire  north 
is  inimical  to  our  company,  and  the  government 
will  withdraw  our  option.  We  will  be  ruined. 
Our  stockholders  will  lose  every  cent  invested." 

90 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

In  moments  of  mental  energy  Philip  was  rest- 
less. He  rose  from  his  chair  now  and  moved 
softly  back  and  forth  across  the  carpeted  floor 
of  the  big  room,  shrouded  in  tobacco  smoke. 
Should  he  break  his  word  to  Gregson  and  tell 
Brokaw  of  Lord  Fitzhugh?  But,  on  second 
thought,  what  good  would  come  of  it?  Brokaw 
was  already  aware  of  the  seriousness  of  the 
situation.  In  some  one  of  his  unaccountable 
ways  he  had  learned  that  their  enemies  were  to 
strike  almost  immediately,  and  his  own  revela- 
tion of  the  Fitzhugh  letters  would  but  strengthen 
this  evidence.  He  would  keep  his  faith  with 
Gregson  for  the  promised  day  or  two.  For  an 
hour  the  two  men  were  alone  in  the  room.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  their  plans  were  settled. 
The  next  morning  Philip  would  leave  for  Blind 
Indian  Lake  and  prepare  for  war.  Brokaw 
would  follow  two  or  three  days  later. 

A  heavy  weight  seemed  lifted  from  Philip's 
shoulders  when  he  left  Brokaw.  After  months 
of  worry  and  weeks  of  physical  inaction  he  saw 
his  way  clear  for  the  first  time.  And  for  the 
first  time,  too,  something  seemed  to  have  come 
into  his  life  that  filled  him  with  a  strange  ex- 
hilaration, and  made  him  forgetful  of  the  gloom 
that  had  settled  over  him  during  these  last 
months.  That  night  he  would  see  Jeanne.  His 
body  thrilled  at  the  thought,  until  for  a  time  he 
forgot  that  he  would  also  see  and  talk  with 
Eileen.    A  few  days  before  he  had  told  Greg- 

ttl 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

son  that  it  would  be  suicidal  to  fight  the  notth* 
emers;    now  he  was  eager  for  action,  eager  to 
begin  and  end  the  affair — to  win  or  lose.     If  he 
'  bad  stopped  to  analyze  the  change  in  himself 
he  would  have  found  that  the  beautiful  gu-I 
whom  he  had  first  seen  on  the  moonlit  rock  was 
at  the  bottom  of  it.     And  yet  Jeanne  was  a 
northerner,  one  of  those  against  whom  his  actions 
must  be  directed.     But  he  had  confidence  in 
himself,   confidence  in   what  that  night  would 
bring  forth.     He  was  like  one  freed  from  a  bon- 
dage that  had  oppressed  him  for  a  long  time,  and 
the  fact  that  he  might  be  compelled  to   fight 
Jeanne's  own  people  did  not  destroy  his  hope- 
fulness, the  new  joy  and  excitement  that  he  had 
found  in  life.     As  he  hurried  back  to  his  cabin 
he  told  himself  that  both  Jeanne  and  Pierre  had 
read  what  he  had  sent  to  them  in  the  handker- 
chief;    their   response   was   a   proof   that   they 
understood  him,  and  deep  down  a  voice  kept 
telling  him  that  if  it  came  to  fighting  they  three, 
Pierre,  Jeanne,  and  himself,  would  rise  or  fall 
together.     A   few  hours   had   transformed   him 
into  Gregson's  old  appreciation  of  the  fighting 
man.     Long  and  tedious  months  of  diplomacy, 
of  political  intrigue,   of  bribery  and  dishonest 
financiering,  in  which  he  had  played  but  the 
part  of  a  helpless  machine,  were  gone.     Now  he 
held  the  whip-hand;   Brokaw  had  acknowledged 
his  own  surrender.     He  was  to  fight — a  clean, 
fair  fight  on  his  part,  and  his  blood  leaped  in 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

every  vein  like  marshaling  armies.  That  night, 
on  the  rock,  he  would  re^'^eal  himself  frankly  to 
Pierre  and  Jeanne.  He  would  tell  them  of  the 
plot  to  disrupt  the  company,  and  of  the  work 
ahead  of  him.     And  after  that — 

He  thrust  open  the  door  of  his  cabin,  eager  to 
enHst  Gregson  in  his  enthusiasm.  The  artist 
was  not  in.  Philip  noticed  that  the  cartridge-belt 
and  the  revolver  which  usually  hung  over  Greg- 
son's  bunk  were  gone.  He  never  entered  the 
cabin  without  looking  at  the  sketch  of  Eileen 
Brokaw.  Something  about  it  seemed  to  fasci- 
nate him,  to  challenge  his  presence.  Now  it 
was  missing  from  the  wall. 

He  threw  off  his  coat  and  hat,  filled  his  pipe, 
and  began  gathering  up  his  few  possessions, 
ready  for  packing.  It  was  noon  before  he  was 
through,  and  Gregson  had  not  returned.  He 
boiled  himself  some  coffee  and  sat  down  to  wait. 
At  five  o'clock  he  was  to  eat  supper  with  the 
Brokaws  and  the  factor;  Eileen,  through  her 
father,  had  asked  him  to  join  her  an  hour  or 
two  earlier  in  the  big  room.  He  waited  until 
fom*,  and  then  left  a  brief  note  for  Gregson  upon 
the  table.  ^ 

It  was  growing  dusk  in  the  forest.  From  the 
top  of  the  ridge  Philip  caught  the  last  red  glow 
of  the  sun,  sinking  far  to  the  south  and  west. 
A  faint  radiance  of  it  still  swept  over  his  head  and 
mingled  with  the  thickening  gray  gloom  of  the 
northern  sea.    Across  the  dip  in  the  Bay  the 

8S 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

huge,  white-capped  cliff  seemed  to  loom  nearei 
and  more  gigantic  in  the  whimsical  light.  For 
a  few  moments  a  red  bar  shot  across  it,  and  as 
the  golden  fire  faded  and  died  away  Phihp 
could  not  but  think  it  was  like  a  torch  beckoning 
to  him.  A  few  hours  more,  and  where  that  light 
had  been  he  would  see  Jeanne.  And  now,  down 
there,  Eileen  was  waiting  for  him. 

His  pulse  quickened  as  he  passed  beyond  the 
ancient  fort,  over  the  burial-place  of  the  dead, 
and  into  Churchill.  He  met  no  one  at  the 
factor's,  and  the  door  leading  into  Miss  Brokaw*s 
room  was  partly  ajar.  A  great  fire  was  burning 
in  the  fireplace,  and  he  saw  Eileen  seated  in  the 
rich  glow  of  it,  smiling  at  him  as  he  entered.  He 
closed  the  door,  and  when  he  turned  she  had 
risen  and  was  holding  out  her  hands  to  him. 
She  had  dressed  for  him,  almost  as  on  that  night 
of  the  Brokaw  ball.  In  the  flashing  play  of  the 
fire  her  exquisite  arms  and  shoulders  shone  with 
dazzling  beauty;  her  eyes  laughed  at  him;  her 
hair  rippled  in  a  golden  flood.  Faintly  there 
came  to  him,  filling  the  room  slowly,  tingling 
*  his  nerves,  the  sweet  scent  of  heliotrope — the  per* 
fume  that  had  filled  his  nostrils  on  that  other 
night,  a  long  time  ago,  the  sweet  scent  that  ha<J 
come  to  him  in  the  handkerchief  dropped  on  the 
rock,  the  breath  of  the  bit  of  lace  that  had  bound 
Jeanne's  hair! 

Eileen  moved  toward  him.  "PbHip,"  she 
said,  "now  are  you  glad  to  see  me?** 

94, 


IS 

HER  voice  broke  tlie  si)ell  that  had  held  him 
for  a  moment. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  cried,  quickly, 
seizing  both  her  hands.  "Only  I  haven't  quite 
yet  awakened  from  my  dream.  It  seems  too 
wonderful,  almost  unreal.  Are  you  the  old 
Eileen  who  used  to  shudder  when  I  told  you 
of  a  bit  of  jungle  and  wild  beasts,  and  who 
laughed  at  me  because  I  loved  to  sleep  out-of- 
doors  and  tramp  mountains,  instead  of  decent- 
ly behaving  myself  at  home?  I  demand  an  ex- 
planation.    It  must  be  a  wonderful  change — '* 

"Iliere  has  been  a  change,"  she  interrupted 
him.  "Sit  down,  Philip— there!"  She  nestled 
herself  on  a  stool,  close  to  his  feet,  and  looked 
up  at  him,  her  hands  clasped  under  her  chin, 
radiantly  lovely.  "You  told  me  once  that 
girls  like  me  simply  fluttered  over  the  top  of 
life  like  butterflies;  that  we  couldn't  under- 
stand life,  or  Uve  it,  until  somewhere — at  some 
time — we  came  into  touch  with  nature.  Do  you 
remember?  I  was  consumed  with  rage  then— 
at  your  frankness,  at  what  I  considered  your 
impertinence.  I  couldn't  get  what  you  said  out 
of  my  mind.    And  I'm  trying  it." 

95 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

"And  you  like  it?**  He  put  the  question  al- 
most eagerly. 

"Yes." 

She  was  looking  at  him  steadily,  her  beauti- 
ful gray  eyes  meeting  his  own  in  a  silence  that 
stirred  him  deeply.  He  had  never  seen  hep 
more  beautiful.  Was  it  the  firelight  on  her  face, 
the  crimson  leapings  of  the  flames,  that  gave  her 
skin  a  richer  hue.f*  Was  it  the  mingling  of  fire 
and  shadow  that  darkened  her  cheeks  .^^  An 
impulse  made  him  utter  the  words  which  passed 
through  his  mind. 

"You  have  already  tried  it,**  he  said.  "I  can 
see  the  effects  of  it  in  your  face.  It  would  take 
weeks  in  the  forests  to  do  that.'* 

The  gray  eyes  faltered;   the  flush  deepened. 

"Yes,  I  have  tried  it.  I  spent  a  half  of  the 
summer  at  our  cottage  on  the  lake.'* 

"But  it  is  not  tan,"  he  persisted,  thrilled  for 
a  moment  by  the  discoveries  he  was  making. 
"It  is  the  wind;  it  is  the  open;  it  is  the  smoke 
of  camp-fires;  it  is  the  elixir  of  balsam  and  cedar 
and  pine.  That  is  what  I  see  in  your  face — un- 
less it  is  the  fire." 

"It  is  the  fire,  partly,"  she  said.  "And  the 
rest  is  the  wind  and  the  open  of  the  seas  we  have 
come  across,  and  the  sting  of  icebergs.  Ughs 
my  face  feels  like  nettles!'* 

She  rubbed  her  cheeks  with  her  two  hands, 
and  then  held  up  one  hand  to  Philip. 

"Look,"  she  said.     "It's  as  rough  as  sand* 

96 


r 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

papCT.  Isn't  that  a  change?  I  didn't  even  wear 
gloves  on  the  ship.  I'm  an  enthusiast.  I'm  going 
down  there  with  you,  and  I'm  going  to  fight. 
Now  have  you  got  anything  to  say  against  me, 
Mr.  Philip?" 

There  was  a  lightness  in  her  words,  and  yet 
not  in  her  voice.  In  her  manner  was  an  un- 
easiness, mingled  with  an  almost  childish  eager- 
ness for  him  to  answer,  which  Philip  could  not 
understand.  He  fancied  that  once  or  twice  he  had 
caught  the  faintest  sign  of  a  break  in  her  voice. 

"You  really  mean  to  hazard  this  adventure?" 
he  cried,  softly,  in  his  astonishment.  "You, 
whom  wild  horses  couldn't  drag  into  the  wilder- 
Bess,  as  you  once  told  me!" 

"Yes,"  she  affirmed,  drawing  her  stool  back 
out  of  the  increasing  heat  of  the  fire.  Her  face 
was  almost  entirely  in  shadow  now,  and  she  did 
not  look  at  Philip.  "I  am  beginning  to — to 
love  adventure,"  she  went  on,  in  an  even  voice. 
"It  was  an  adventure  coming  up.  And  when 
we  landed  down  there  something  curious  hap- 
pened. Did  you  see  a  girl  who  thought  that 
she  knew  me — " 

She  stopped,  and  a  sudden  flash  of  the  fire  lit 
up  her  eyes,  fixed  on  him  intently  from  between 
her  shielding  hands. 

"I  saw  her  run  out  and  speak  to  you,"  said 
Philip,  his  heart  beating  at  double-quick.  He 
leaned  over  so  that  he  was  looking  squarely  mto 
Miss  Brokaw's  face. 

87 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"Did  you  know  her?"  she  asked. 

**I  have  seen  her  only  twice — once  before  she 
spoke  to  you." 

"If  I  meet  her  again  I  shall  apologize,"  said 
Eileen.  "It  was  her  mistake,  and  she  startled 
me.  When  she  ran  out  to  me  like  that,  and  held 
out  her  hands  I — I  thought  of  beggars." 

"Beggars!"  almost  shouted  Philip.  "A  beg- 
gar!" He  caught  himself  with  a  laugh,  and  to 
cover  his  sudden  emotion  turned  to  lay  a  fresh 
piece  of  birch  on  the  fire,  "We  don't  have 
beggars  up  here." 

The  door  opened  behind  them  and  Brokaw  en- 
tered. Philip's  face  was  red  when  he  greeted 
him.  For  half  an  hour  after  that  he  cursed  him- 
self for  not  being  as  clever  as  Gregson.  He  knew 
that  there  was  a  change  in  Eileen  Brokaw,  a 
change  which  nature  had  not  worked  alone,  as 
she  wished  him  to  believe.  Then,  and  at  sup- 
per, he  tried  to  fathom  her.  At  times  he  de- 
tected the  metallic  ring  of  what  was  unreal  and 
make-beheve  in  what  she  said;  at  other  times 
she  seemed  stirred  by  emotions  which  added 
immeasurably  to  the  sweetness  and  truthfulness 
of  her  voice.  She  was  nervous.  He  found  hei 
eyes  frequently  seeking  her  father's  face,  and  more 
than  once  they  were  filled  with  a  mysterious 
questioning,  as  if  within  Brokaw's  brain  there 
lurked  hidden  things  which  were  new  to  her,  and 
which  she  was  struggling  to  understand.  She 
no  longer  held  the  old  fascination  for  Philip,  and 

88 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

yet  he  conceded  that  she  was  more  beautiful 
than  ever.  Until  to-night  he  had  never  seen 
the  shadow  of  sadness  in  her  eyes;  he  had  never 
seen  them  darken  as  they  darkened  now,  when 
she  listened  with  almost  feverish  interest  to  the 
words  which  jmssed  between  himself  and  Bro- 
kaw.  He  was  certain  that  it  was  not  a  whim 
that  had  brought  her  into  the  north.  It  was 
impossible  for  him  to  believe  that  he  had  piqued 
at  her  vanity  until  she  had  leaped  into  action, 
as  she  had  suggested  to  him  while  they  were 
sitting  before  the  fire.  Could  it  be  that  she  had 
accompanied  her  father  because  he — Philip 
Whittemore — was  in  the  north? 

The  thought  drew  a  slow  flush  into  his  face, 
and  his  uneasiness  increased  when  he  knew  that 
she  was  looking  at  him.  He  was  glad  when  it 
came  time  for  cigars,  and  Eileai  excused  her- 
self. He  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  told  her 
that  he  probably  would  not  see  her  again  until 
morning,  as  he  had  an  important  engagement  for 
the  evening.  She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  for 
a  moment  he  felt  the  clinging  ot  her  fingers  about 
his  own. 

"Good  night,"  she  whispered. 

"Good  night." 

She  drew  her  hand  half  away,  and  th^i,  sud- 
denly, raised  her  eyes  straight  to  his  own.  They 
were  calm,  quiet,  beautiful,  and  yet  there  came 
a  quick  little  catch  in  her  throat  as  she  leaned  so 
close  to  him  that  she  touched  his  breast,  and  said: 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

"It  will  be  best — ^best  for  everything — every- 
body— if  you  can  influence  father  to  stay  at  Fort 
ChurchiU." 

She  did  not  wait  for  him  to  reply,  but  hurried 
toward  her  room.  For  a  moment  Philip  stared 
after  her  in  amazement.  Then  he  took  a  step 
as  if  to  follow  her,  to  call  her  back.  The  im- 
pulse left  him  as  quickly  as  it  came,  and  he  re- 
joined Brokaw  and  the  factor. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  seven  o'clock. 
At  half -past  seven  he  shook  hands  with  the  two 
men,  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and  passed  out  into 
the  night.  It  was  early  for  his  meeting  with 
Pierre  and  Jeanne,  but  he  went  down  to  the 
shore  and  walked  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the 
cliflp.  He  was  still  an  hour  early  when  he  ar- 
rived at  the  great  rock,  and  sat  down,  with  his 
face  turned  to  the  sea. 

It  was  a  white,  radiant  night,  such  as  he  had 
seen  in.  the  tropics.  Only  here,  iu  the  north,  his 
vision  reached  to  greater  distances.  Churchill 
lay  lifeless  in  its  pool  of  Hght;  the  ship  hung  like 
a  black  silhouette  ia  the  distance,  with  a  cloud 
of  jet-black  smoke  rising  straight  up  from  its 
funnels,  and  spreading  out  high  up  against  the 
sky,  a  huge,  ebon  monster  that  cast  its  shadow 
for  half  a  mile  over  the  Bay.  The  shadow 
held  Philip's  eyes.  Now  it  was  like  a  gigan- 
tic face,  now  like  a  monster  beast  —  now  it 
reached  out  in  the  form  of  a  great  threatening 
hand,  as  though  somewhere  in  the  mystery  of  the 

100 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

north  it  sought  a  spirit  -  victim  as  potent  as 
itself. 

Then  the  spell  of  it  was  broken.  From  the 
end  of  the  shadow,  which  reached  almost  to  the 
base  of  the  cliff  on  which  Philip  sat,  there  came 
a  sound.  It  was  a  clear,  metallic  soimd  that 
left  the  vibration  of  steel  in  the  air,  and  Philip 
leaned  over  the  edge  of  the  rock.  Below  him 
the  shadow  was  broken  into  a  pool  of  rippling 
starlight.  He  heard  the  faint  dip  of  paddles, 
and  suddenly  a  canoe  shot  from  the  shadow  out 
into  the  clear  light  of  the  moon  and  stars. 

It  was  a  large  canoe.  In  it  he  could  make  out 
four  figures.  Three  of  them  were  paddling;  the 
fourth  sat  motionless  in  the  bow.  They  passed 
undCT  him  swiftly,  guiding  their  canoe  so  that 
it  was  soon  hidden  in  the  shelter  of  the  cliff.  By 
the  faint  reflections  cast  by  the  disturbed  water, 
Philip  saw  that  the  occupants  of  the  canoe  had 
made  an  effort  to  conceal  themselves  by  follow- 
ing the  course  of  the  dense  shadow.  Only  the 
chance  sound  had  led  him  to  observe  them. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  the  passing  of 
a  strange  canoe  at  night  would  have  had  no 
significance  for  him.  But  at  the  present  time 
it  troubled  him.  The  manner  of  its  approach 
through  the  shadow,  the  strange  quiet  of  its 
occupants,  the  stealth  with  which  they  had  shot 
the  canoe  under  the  cliff,  were  all  unusual. 
Could  the  incident  have  anything  to  do  with 
Jeanne  and  Pierre.'* 

101 


FLOWER   OF   THE    NORTH 

He  waited  until  he  heard  the  tiny  bell  in  his 
watch  tinkle  the  half -hour,  and  then  he  set  out 
slowly  over  the  moonlit  rocks  to  the  north. 
Jeanne  and  jPierre  would  surely  come  from  that 
direction.  It  was  impossible  to  miss  them.  He 
walked  without  sc^imd  in  his  moccasins,  keeping 
close  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  so  that  he  could  look 
out  over  the  Bay.  Two  or  three  hundred  yards 
beyond  the  big  rock  the  sea-wall  swimg  in  sharp- 
ly, disclosuig  the  of>en  water,  like  a  still,  silvery 
sheet,  for  a  mfle  or  more.  Philip  scanned  it  for 
the  canoe,  but  as  far  as  he  could  see  there  was 
not  a  shadow. 

For  a  quarter  of  a  mile  he  walked  over  the 
rocks,  then  returned.  It  was  nine  o'clock.  The 
moment  had  arrived  for  the  appearance  of  Jeanne 
and  Pierre.  He  resumed  his  patrol  of  the  cliff, 
and  with  each  moment  his  nervousness  increased. 
What  if  Jeanne  failed  him?  What  if  she  did  not 
come  to  the  rock?  The  mere  thought  made  his 
heart  sink  with  a  sudden  painful  throb.  Until 
now  the  fear  that  Jeanne  might  disappoint  him, 
that  she  might  not  keep  the  tryst,  had  not  en- 
tered his  head.  His  faith  in  this  girl,  whom  he 
had  seen  but  twice,  was  supreme. 

A  second  and  a  third  time  he  patrolled  the 
quarter  mile  of  cliff.  Again  his  watch  tinkled 
the  half -hour,  and  he  knew  that  the  last  minutes 
erf  the  appointed  time  had  come. 

The  third  and  last  time  he  went  beyond  the 
quarter-mile  limit,  searching  in  the  white  dis* 

102 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

tances  beyond.  A  low  wind  was  rising  from  -the 
Bay;  it  rustled  in  the  spruce  and  balsam  tops 
of  the  forest  that  reached  up  to  the  barren  white- 
ness of  the  rock  plateau  on  which  he  stood; 
under  him  he  heard,  growing  more  and  more 
distinct,  the  moaning  wash  of  the  swelling  tide. 
A  moment  of  despair  i)ossessed  him,  and  he  felt 
that  he  had  lost. 

Suddenly  the  wind  brought  to  him  a  different 
sound — a  shout  far  down  the  cliff,  a  second  cry, 
and  then  the  scream  of  a  woman,  deadened  by 
the  wash  of  the  sea  and  the  increasing  sweep  of 
the  wind  among  the  trees. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  powerless,  listening. 
The  wind  lulled,  and  the  woman's  cry  now  came 
to  him  again — a  voice  that  was  filled  with  terror 
rising  in  a  wild  appeal  for  help.  With  an  answer- 
ing shout  he  ran  like  a  swift-footed  animal  along 
the  cliff.  It  was  Jeanne  who  was  calling!  Who 
else  but  Jeanne  would  be  out  there  in  the  gray 
night — ^Jeanne  and  Pierre?  He  listened  as  he 
ran,  but  there  came  no  other  sound.  At  last  he 
stopped,  and  drew  in  a  great  breath,  to  send  out 
a  shout  that  would  reach  their  ears. 

Above  the  fierce  beating  of  his  heart,  the  throb- 
bing intake  of  his  breath,  he  heard  sounds  which 
I  were  not  of  the  wind  or  the  sea.  He  ran  on,  and 
suddenly  the  cliff  dropped  from  under  his  feet, 
and  he  found  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  great  rift 
in  the  wall  of  rock,  looking  across  upon  a  strange 
scene.    In  the  brilliant  moonlight,  with  his  back 

108 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

against  a  rock,  stood  Pierre,  his  glistening  rapier 
in  his  hand,  his  thin,  hthe  body  bent  for  the 
attack  of  three  men  who  faced  him.  It  was  but 
a  moment's  tableau.  The  men  rushed  in. 
Muflfled  cries,  blows,  a  single  clash  of  steel,  and 
Pierre's  voice  rose  above  the  sound  of  conflict. 
"For  the  love  of  God,  give  me  help,  M'sieur!'* 
He  had  seen  Philip  rush  up  to  the  edge  of  the 
break  in  the  cHff,  and  as  he  fought  he  cried  out 
again. 

"Shoot,  M'sieur!  In  a  moment  it  will  be  too 
late!" 

Philip  had  drawn  his  heavy  revolver.  He 
watched  for  an  opp)ortunity.  The  men  were 
fighting  now  so  that  Pierre  had  been  forced  be- 
tween his  assailants  and  the  breach  in  the  wall. 
There  was  no  chance  to  fire  without  hitting 
him. 

"Run,  Pierre!"  shouted  Philip.  "Run—" 
He  fired  once,  over  the  heads  of  the  fighters, 
and  as  Pierre  suddenly  darted  to  one  side  in 
obedience  to  his  command  there  came  for  the 
first  time  a  shot  from  the  other  side.  The  bullet 
whistled  close  to  his  ears.  A  second  shot,  and 
Pierre  fell  down  like  one  dead  among  the  rocks. 
Again  Philip  fired — a  third  and  a  fourth  time, 
and  one  of  the  three  who  were  disappearing  in 
the  white  gloom  stumbled  over  a  rock,  and  fell 
as  Pierre  had  fallen.  His  companions  stopped, 
picked  him  up,  and  staggered  on  with  him. 
Philip's  last  shot  missed,  and  before  he  could  re- 

104 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

load  they  were  lost  among  the  upheaved  masses 
of  the  cliff. 

"Pierre!"  he  called.     "Ho!  Pierre  Couchee!" 

There  was  no  answer  from  the  other  side. 

He  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  break,  and  in  the 
direction  of  the  forest  he  found  a  place  where  he 
could  descend.  In  his  haste  he  fell;  his  hands 
were  scratched,  blood  flowed  from  a  cut  in  his 
forehead  when  he  dragged  himself  up  to  the  face 
of  the  cliff  again.  He  tried  to  shout  when  he 
saw  a  figure  drag  itself  up  from  among  the  rocks, 
but  his  almost  superhuman  exertions  had  left 
him  voiceless.  His  wind  whistled  from  between 
his  parted  lips  when  he  came  to  Pierre. 

Pierre  was  supporting  himself  against  a  rock. 
His  face  was  streaming  with  blood.  In  his  hand 
he  held  what  remained  of  the  rapier,  which  had 
broken  off  close  to  the  hilt.  His  eyes  were  blaz- 
ing like  a  madman's,  and  his  face  was  twisted  with 
an  agony  that  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  through  Philip. 

"My  hurt  is  nothing — nothing — M'sieur!"  he 
gasped,  understanding  the  look  in  Philip's  face. 
**It  is  Jeanne!  They  have  gone — ^gone  with 
Jeanne!"  The  rapier  slipped  from  his  hand, 
and  he  slid  weakly  down  against  the  rock.  Philip 
dropped  upon  his  knees,  and  with  his  handker- 
chief began  wiping  the  blood  from  the  half-breed's 
face.  For  a  few  moments  Pierre's  head  hung 
limp  against  his  shoulder. 

"What  is  it,  Pierre?"  he  urged.     "Tell  me— 
quick!     They  have  gone  with  Jeanne!" 
8  101 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Pierre's  body  grew  rigid.  With  one  great 
effort  he  seemed  to  marshal  all  of  his  strength, 
and  straightened  himself. 

"Listen,  M'sieur,"  he  said,  si>eaking  calmly, 
*'  They  set  upon  us  as  we  were  going  to  meet  you 
at  the  rock.  There  were  four.  One  of  them  is 
dead — back  there.  The  others — with  Jeanne — 
have  gone  in  the  canoe.  It  is  death — worse  than 
death — for  her — " 

His  body  writhed.  Li  a  passion  he  strove  to 
rise  to  his  feet.  Then  with  a  groan  he  sank  back, 
and  for  a  moment  Philip  thought  he  was  dying. 

"I  will  go,  Pierre,"  he  cried.  "I  will  bring 
her  back.     I  swear  it.'* 

Pierre's  hand  detained  him  as  he  went  to  rise. 

"You  swear — " 

"Yes." 

"At  the  next  break — there  is  a  canoe.  They 
have  gone  for  the  Churchill — " 

Pierre's  voice  was  growing  weaker.  Li  a 
spasm  of  sudden  fear  at  the  dizziness  which  was 
turning  the  night  black  for  him  he  clutched  at 
Philip's  arm. 

"If  you  save  her,  M'sieur,  do  not  bring  her 
back,"  he  whispered,  hoarsely.  "Take  her  to 
Fort  o'  God.  Lose  not  an  hour — ^not  a  minute. 
Trust  no  one.  Hide  yourselves.  Fight — kill — • 
but  take  her  to  Fort  o' God!  You  will  do  this — 
M'sieur — you  promise — " 

He  fell  back  limp.  Philip  lowered  him  gently, 
holding  his  head  so  that  he  could  look  into  the 

106 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

staring  eyes  that  were  still  open  and  iindei> 
standing. 

"I  will  go,  Pierre,"  he  said.  "I  will  take  her 
to  Fort  o'  God.    And  you — '* 

A  shadow  was  creeping  over  Pierre's  eyes.  He 
was  still  fighting  to  understand,  fighting  to  hold 
for  another  breath  or  two  the  consciousness  that 
was  fast  slipping  from  him. 

"Listen,"  cried  Philip,  striving  to  rouse  him. 
"You  will  not  die.  The  bullet  grazed  your  head, 
and  the  woimd  has  already  stopped  bleedmg. 
To-morrow  you  must  go  to  Churchill  and  hunt 
up  a  man  named  Gregson — the  man  I  was  with 
when  you  and  Jeanne  came  to  see  the  ship.  Tell 
him  that  an  important  thing  has  happened,  and- 
that  he  must  tell  the  others  I  have  gone  to  the 
camps.  He  will  understand.  Tell  him — tell 
him—" 

He  struggled  to  find  some  final  word  for  Greg- 
son.  Pierre  still  looked  at  him,  his  eyes  half 
closed  now. 

Philip  bent  close  down. 

"Tell  him,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  on  the  trail  of 
LordFitzhugh!" 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  name  when  Pierre's 
closing  eyes  shot  open.  A  groaning  cry  burst 
from  his  lips,  and,  as  if  that  name  had  aroused 
the  last  spark  of  life  and  strength  within  him 
into  action,  he  wrenched  himself  from  Philip's 
arms,  striving  to  speak.  A  trickle  of  fresh  blood 
ran  over  his  face.    Incoherent  sounds  rattled  ia 

107 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

ills  throat,  and  thai,  overcome  by  his  effort,  h^ 
dropped  back  unconscious.  Philip  wound  his 
handkerchief  about  the  wounded  man's  head 
and  straightened  out  his  hmbs.  Then  he  Pose 
to  his  feet  and  reloaded  his  revolver.  His  hands 
were  steady  now.  His  brain  was  clear;  the  en- 
ervating thrill  of  excitement  had  gone  from  his 
body.     Only  his  heart  beat  like  a  racing  engine. 

He  turned  and  ran  in  the  direction  which 
Pierre's  assailants  had  taken,  his  head  lowered, 
his  revolver  held  in  front  of  him,  on  a  level  with 
his  breast.  He  had  not  gone  a  hundred  yards 
when  something  stopped  him.  In  his  path,  with 
its  face  turned  straight  up  to  the  moonlit  sky, 
lay  the  body  of  a  man.  For  an  instant  Phihp 
bent  over  it.  The  broken  blade  of  Pierre's 
rapier  glistened  under  the  man's  throat.  One 
lifeless  hand  clutched  at  it,  as  though  in  the 
last  moment  of  life  he  had  tried  to  draw  it  forth* 
The  face  was  distorted,  the  eyes  were  still  open, 
the  lips  parted.  Death  had  come  with  terrible 
suddenness. 

Philip  bent  lower,  and  stared  into  the  face  of 
the  dead  man.  Where  had  he  seen  that  face 
before? 

Suddenly  he  remembered.  He  drew  back,  and 
a  cold  sweat  seemed  to  break  out  all  at  once  over 
his  face  and  body.  This  man  who  lay  with  the 
broken  blade  of  Pierre  Couchee's  rapier  in  his 
breast  had  come  ashore  from  the  London  ship 
that  day  in  company  with  Eileen  and  her  f. either 

108 


FLOIVER   OF    THE    NORTH 

for  a  space  he  was  overwhelmed  by  the  dis- 
j-overy.  Everything  that  had  happened— the 
scene  upon  the  rock  when  he  first  met  Jeanne, 
the  arrival  of  the  ship,  the  moment's  tableau  on 
the  pier  when  Jeanne  and  Eileen  stood  face  to 
face— rushed  upon  him  now  as  he  gazed  down 
into  the  staring  eyes  at  his  feet.  What  did  it 
all  mean?  Why  had  Lord  Fitzhugh's  name  been 
sufficient  to  drag  the  half-breed  back  from  the 
brink  of  unconsciousness?  What  significance  was 
there  in  this  strange  combination  of  circum- 
stances that  persisted  in  drawing  Pierre  and 
Jeanne  into  the  plot  that  threatened  himselfP 
Had  there  been  truth,  after  all,  in  those  last 
words  that  he  impressed  upon  the  fainting  senses 
of  Pierre  Couchee's  message  to  Gregson? 

He  waited  to  answer  none  of  the  questions 
that  leaped  through  his  brain.     To-morrow  some 
one  would  find  Pierre,  or  Pierre  would  crawl 
down  into  Churchill.     And  then  there  would  be 
the  dead  man  to  account  for.     He  shuddered  as 
he  returned  his   revolver   into   his  holster  and 
braced  his  limbs.     It  was  an  unpleasant  task, 
but  he  knew  that  it  must  be  done— to  save  Pierre. 
He  lifted  the  body  clear  of  the  rocks,  and  bend- 
ing under  its  weight  carried  it  to  the  edge  of 
the  cliff.     Far  below  sounded  the  wash  of  the 
sea.     He  shoved  his  burden  over  the  edge,  and 
listened.    After  a  moment  there  came  a  dull 

Then  he  hastened  on,  as  Pierre  had  guiaed  him. 

109 


SOON  Phaip  slackened  his  pace,  and  looked 
anxiously  ahead  of  him.  From  where  he 
stood  the  cliff  sloped  down  to  a  white  strip  of 
beach  that  reached  out  into  the  night  as  far  as 
he  could  see,  hemmed  close  in  by  the  black  gloom 
of  the  forest.  Half-way  down  the  slope  the 
moonlight  was  cut  by  a  dark  streak,  and  he 
found  this  to  be  the  second  break.  He  had  na 
difficulty  in  descending.  Its  sides  were  smooth, 
as  though  worn  by  water.  At  the  bottom  white, 
dry  sand  slipped  under  his  feet.  He  made  his 
Vray  between  the  walls,  and  darkness  shut  him 
in.  The  trail  grew  rougher.  Near  the  shore 
he  stumbled  blindly  among  huge  rocks  and  piles 
of  crumbling  slate,  wondering  why  Jeanne  and 
Pierre  had  come  this  way  when  they  might  have 
taken  a  smoother  road.  Close  to  the  stony 
beach,  where  the  light  was  a  httle  better,  he 
imade  out  the  canoe  which  Pierre  had  drawn  into 
the  shadows. 

Not  until  he  had  dragged  it  into  the  moonlight 
at  the  edge  of  the  water  did  he  see  that  it  was 
equipped  as  if  for  a  long  journey.  Close  to  the 
stem  was  a  bulging  pack,  with  a  rifle  strapped 

110 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

across  it.  Two  or  three  smaller  caribou-skin 
bags  lay  in  the  center  of  the  canoe.  In  the  bow 
was  a  thick  nest  of  bearskin,  and  he  knew  that 
this  was  for  Jeanne. 

Cautiously  Philip  lamiched  himself,  and  with 
silent  sweeps  of  the  paddle  that  made  scarcely 
the  sound  of  a  ripple  in  the  water  set  out  in  the 
direction  of  Churchill.  Jeanne's  captors  had  a 
considerable  start  of  him,  but  he  felt  confident 
of  his  ability  to  overtake  them  shortly  if  Pierre 
had  spoken  with  truth  when  he  said  that  they 
would  head  for  the  Churchill  River.  He  had 
observed  the  caution  with  which  Pierre's  as- 
sailants had  approached  the  cHff,  and  he  was 
sure  that  they  would  double  that  caution  in  their 
return,  especially  as  their  attack  had  been  in- 
terrupted at  the  last  moment.  For  this  rea- 
son he  paddled  without  great  haste,  keepiag 
well  within  the  concealment  of  the  precipitous 
shore,  with  his  ears  and  eyes  keenly  ahve  to 
discover  a  sign  of  those  who  were  ahead  of 
him. 

Opposite  the  rock  where  Pierre  and  Jeanne 
were  to  have  met  him  he  stopped  and  stood  up 
in  the  canoe.  The  wind  had  dispelled  the  smoke 
shadow.  Between  him  and  the  distant  ship  lay 
an  unclouded  sea.  Two-thirds  of  the  distance  to 
the  vessel  he  made  out  the  larger  canoe,  rising 
and  falling  with  the  smooth  undulations  of  the 
tide.     He  sank  upon  his  knees  again  and  im- 

«trapped  Pierre's  rifle.     There  was  a  cartridge 

111 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

in  the  chamber.  He  made  sure  that  the  maga^ 
zine  was  loaded,  and  resumed  his  paddling. 

His  mind  worked  rapidly.  Within  half  an 
hour,  if  he  desired,  he  could  overtake  the  other 
canoe.  And  what  then?  There  were  three  to 
one,  if  it  came  to  a  fight — and  how  could  he 
rescue  Jeanne  without  a  fight.'*  His  blood  was 
pounding  eagerly,  almost  with  pleasure  at  the 
promise  of  what  was  ahead  of  him,  and  he 
laughed  softly  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  the 
odds. 

The  ship  loomed  nearer;  the  canoe  vanished 
behind  it.  A  brief  stop,  a  dozen  words  of  ex- 
planation, and  Philip  knew  that  he  could  secure 
assistance  from  the  vessel.  After  all,  would  that 
not  be  the  wisest  course  for  him  to  pursue.''  For 
a  moment  he  hesitated,  and  paddled  more  slow- 
ly. If  others  joined  with  him  in  the  rescue  of 
Jeanne  what  excuse  could  he  offer  for  not  bring- 
ing her  back  to  Churchill.''  What  would  happen 
if  he  returned  with  her.''  WTiy  had  Pierre  roused 
himself  from  something  that  was  almost  death 
to  entreat  him  to  take  Jeanne  to  Fort  o'  God  .5* 

At  the  thought  of  Fort  o'  God  a  new  strength 
leaped  into  his  arms  and  body,  urging  him  on  to 
cope  with  the  situation  single-handed.  If  he 
rescued  Jeanne  alone,  and  went  on  with  her  as 
he  had  promised  Pierre,  many  things  that  were 
puzzling  him  would  be  explained.  It  occurred 
to  him  again  that  Jeanne  and  Pierre  might  be 
the  key  to  the  mysterious  plot  that  promised  to 

112 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

crush  out  the  Hf e  of  the  enterprise  he  had  founded 
in  the  north.  He  found  reasons  for  this  beHef. 
Why  had  Lord  Fitzhugh's  name  had  such  a 
startling  effect  upon  Pierre?  Why  was  one  of 
his  assailants  a  man  fresh  from  the  London  ship 
that  had  borne  Eileen  Brokaw  and  her  father 
as  passengers?  He  felt  that  Jeanne  could  explain 
these  things,  as  well  as  her  brother.  She  could 
explain  the  strange  scene  on  the  pier,  when  for 
a  moment  she  had  stood  crushed  and  startled 
before  Eileen.  She  could  clear  up  the  mystery 
of  Gregson's  sketch,  for  if  there  were  two  Eileen 
Brokaws,  Jeanne  would  know.  With  these  argu- 
ments he  convinced  himself  that  he  should  go 
on  alone.  Yet,  behind  them  there  was  another 
and  more  powerful  motive.  He  confessed  to 
himself  that  he  would  willingly  accept  double 
the  chances  against  him  to  achieve  Jeanne's 
rescue  without  assistance  and  to  accompany 
her  to  Fort  o'  God.  The  thought  of  their  being 
together,  of  the  girFs  companionship — perhaps 
for  days — ^thrilled  him  with  exquisite  anticipa- 
tion. An  hour  or  so  ago  he  had  been  satisfied 
in  the  assurance  that  he  would  see  her  for  a  few 
minutes  on  the  cliff.  Since  then  fate  had  played 
his  way.  Jeanne  was  his  own,  to  save,  to  de- 
fend, to  carry  on  to  Fort  o'  God. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  he  hesitate  at  the  dan- 
ger ahead  of  him,  and  yet  his  pursuit  was  filled 
with  caution.  Gregson,  the  diplomat,  would 
have  seen  the  necessity  of  halting  at  the  ship  for 

113 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

help;  Philip  was  confident  in  himself.  He  knew 
that  he  would  have  at  least  three  against  him, 
for  he  was  satisfied  that  the  man  whom  he  had 
womided  on  the  cliff  was  still  in  fighting  trim. 
There  might  be  others  whom  he  had  not  taken 
into  account. 

He  passed  so  close  under  the  stem  of  the  ship 
that  his  canoe  scraped  against  her  side.  For  a 
few  minutes  the  vessel  had  obstructed  his  view, 
but  now  he  saw  again,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  dis- 
tant, the  craft  which  he  was  pursuing.  Jeanne's 
captors  were  heading  straight  for  the  river,  and 
as  the  canoe  was  now  partly  broadside  to  him 
he  could  easily  make  out  the  figures  in  her,  but 
•not  distinctly  enough  to  make  sure  of  their 
number.  He  shoved  out  boldly  into  the  moon- 
light, and,  instead  of  following  in  his  former 
course,  he  turned  at  a  sharp  angle  in  the  direction 
of  the  shore.  If  the  others  saw  him,  which  was 
probable,  they  would  think  that  he  was  making 
a  landing  from  the  ship.  Once  he  was  in  the 
deep  fringe  of  shadow  along  the  shore  he  could 
redouble  his  exertions  and  draw  nearer  to  them 
without  being  observed. 

No  sooner  had  he  reached  the  sheltering  gloom 
than  he  bent  to  his  paddle  and  the  light  birch- 
bark  fairly  hissed  through  the  water.  Not  until 
he  found  himself  abreast  of  the  pursued  did  it 
occur  to  him  that  he  could  beat  them  out  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Churchill  and  lie  in  wait  for  them. 
Every  stroke  of  his  paddle  widened  the  distance 

114 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

between  him  and  the  larger  canoe.  Fifteen 
minutes  later  he  reached  the  edge  of  the  huge 
delta  of  wild  rice  and  reeds  through  which  the 
sluggish  volume  of  the  river  emptied  into  the 
Bay.  The  chances  were  that  the  approaching 
canoe  would  take  the  nearest  channel  into  the 
main  stream,  and  Philip  concealed  himself  so 
that  it  would  have  to  pass  within  twenty  yards 
of  him. 

.  From  his  ambuscade  he  looked  out  upon  the 
approaching  canoe.  He  was  puzzled  by  the  slow- 
ness of  its  progress.  At  times  it  seemed  to  stand 
still,  and  he  could  distinguish  no  movement  at  all 
among  its  occupants.  At  first  he  thought  they 
were  undecided  as  to  which  course  to  pursue, 
but  a  few  minutes  more  sufficed  to  show  that  this 
was  not  the  reason  for  their  desultory  advance. 
The  canoe  was  headed  for  the  first  channel.  The 
solution  came  when  a  low  but  clear  whistle  sig- 
naled over  the  water.  Almost  instantly  there 
came  a  responsive  whistle  from  up  the  channeL 

Phihp  drew  a  quick  breath,  and  a  new  sensa^ 
tion  brought  his  teeth  together  in  sudden  per- 
plexity. It  looked  as  though  he  had  a  bigger 
fight  before  him  than  he  had  anticipated. 

At  the  signal  from  up-stream  he  heard  the 
quick  dip  of  paddles,  and  the  canoe  cut  swiftly 
toward  him.  He  drew  back  the  hammer  of 
Pierre's  rifle,  and  cleared  a  Httle  space  through 
the  reeds  and  grass  so  that  his  view  into  the 
channel  was  unobstructed.    Three  or  four  well- 

115  i 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

directed  shots,  a  quick  dash  out  into  the  stream, 
and  he  would  possess  Jeanne.  This  was  his  first 
thought.  It  was  followed  by  others,  rapid  as 
lightning,  that  restrained  his  eagerness.  The 
night-glow  was  treacherous  to  shoot  by.  What 
if  he  should  miss,  or  hit  Jeanne — or  in  the  sudden 
commotion  and  destruction  of  his  shots  the  canoe 
should  be  overturned.?  A  single  error,  the 
slightest  mishap  to  himself,  would  mean  the 
annihilation  of  his  hopes.  Even  if  he  succeeded 
in  directing  his  shots  with  accuracy,  both  him- 
self and  Jeanne  would  almost  immediately  be 
under  fire  from  those  above. 

He  dropped  back  again  behind  the  screen  of 
reeds.  The  canoe  drew  nearer.  A  moment  more 
and  it  was  almost  abreast  of  him,  and  his  heart 
pounded  like  a  swiftly  beating  hammer  when  he 
saw  Jeanne  m  the  stern.  She  was  leaning  back 
as  though  unconscious.  He  could  see  nothing 
of  her  face,  but  as  the  canoe  passed  within  ten 
yards  of  his  hiding-place  he  saw  the  dark  glow 
of  her  disheveled  hair,  which  fell  thickly  over 
the  object  against  which  she  was  resting.  I\ 
was  but  a  moment's  view,  and  they  were  gone. 
He  had  not  looked  at  the  three  men  in  the  canoe. 
His  whole  being  was  centered  upon  Jeanne.  He 
had  seen  no  sign  of  life — no  movement  in  her 
body,  not  the  flutter  of  a  hand,  and  all  his  fears 
leaped  like  brands  of  burning  fii"e  into  his  brain. 
He  thought  of  the  inhuman  plot  which  Lord 
Fitzhugh's   letter  had   revealed;    in   the  same 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

breatk  Pierre  Couchee's  words  rang  in  his  ears — 
"It  is  death — worse  than  death — for  her — " 

Was  Jeanne  the  first  victim  of  that  diabolical 
sdieme  to  awaken  the  wrath  of  the  northland? 
In  the  madness  which  possessed  him  now  Philip 
shoved  out  his  canoe  while  there  was  still  danger 
of  discovery.  Fortunately  none  of  the  pursued 
glanced  back,  and  a  turn  in  the  channel  soon  hid 
them  from  view.  Philip  had  recovered  his  self- 
possession  by  the  time  he  reached  the  turn.  He 
assured  hiniself  that  Jeanne  was  unharmed  as 
yet,  and  that  when  he  saw  her  she  had  probably 
fainted  from  excitement  and  terror.  Her  fate 
still  lay  before  her,  somewhere  in  the  deep  and 
undisturbed  forests  up  the  Churchill.  His  one 
hope  was  to  remain  undiscovered  and  to  rescue 
her  at  the  last  moment  when  she  was  taken 
ashore  by  her  captors. 

He  followed,  close  up  against  the  reeds,  never 
trusting  himself  out  of  the  shadows.  After  a 
Kttle  he  heard  voices,  and  a  second  canoe  ap- 
peared. There  was  a  short  pause,  and  the  two 
canoes  continued  side  by  side  up  the  channel.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  brought  both  the  pursuers  and 
the  pursued  into  the  main  stream,  which  lay  in 
black  gloom  between  forest  walls  that  cut  out 
all  light  but  the  shimmer  of  the  stars. 

No  longer  could  Philip  see  those  ahead  of  him, 
but  he  guided  himself  by  occasional  voices  and  the 
dip  of  paddles.  At  times,  when  the  stream  nar- 
rowed and  the  forest  walls  gave  him  deeper 

117 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

shelter,  he  drew  perilously  near  with  the  hope  of 
overheaxing  what  was  said,  but  he  caught  only 
an  occasional  word  or  two.  He  listened  in  vain 
for  Jeanne's  voice.  Once  he  heard  her  name 
spoken,  and  it  was  followed  by  a  low  laugh  from 
some  one  in  the  canoe  that  had  waited  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Churchill.  A  dozen  times  during 
the  first  half-hour  after  they  entered  the  main 
stream  Philip  heard  this  same  laughing  voice. 

After  a  time  there  fell  a  silence  upon  those 
ahead.  No  a)und  rose  above  the  steady  dip 
of  paddles,  and  the  speed  of  the  two  canoes  in- 
creased. Suddenly,  from  far  up  the  river,  there 
came  a  voice,  faintly  at  first,  but  growing  stead- 
ily louder,  singing  one  of  the  wild  half-breed 
songs  of  the  forest.  The  voice  broke  the  si- 
lence of  those  in  the  canoes.  They  ceased  pad- 
dling, and  Philip  stopped.  He  heard  low  words, 
and  after  a  few  moments  the  paddhng  was  re- 
sumed, and  the  canoes  turned  in  toward  the  shore. 
Philip  followed  their  movement,  dropping  fifty 
yards  farther  down  the  stream,  and  thrust  hia 
birch-bark  alongside  a  thick  balsam  that  had 
fallen  into  the  river. 

The  singing  voice  approached  rapidly.  Five 
minutes  later  a  long  company  canoe  floated  down 
out  of  the  gloom.  It  passed  so  near  that  Philip 
could  see  the  picturesque  figure  in  the  stem 
paddling  and  singing.  In  the  bow  kneeled  an 
Indian  working  in  stoic  silence.  Between  them, 
in  the  body  of  the  canoe,  sat  two  men  whom  he 

118 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

knew  at  a  glance  were  white  men.  The  strangers 
and  their  craft  shpped  by  with  the  quickness  of  a 
shadow. 

Again  Philip  heard  movements  above  him,  and 
once  more  he  took  up  the  pursuit.  He  won- 
dered why  Jeanne  had  not  called  for  help  when 
the  company  canoe  passed.  If  she  was  not  hurt 
or  unconscious,  her  captors  had  been  forced  to 
hold  a  handkerchief  or  a  brutal  hand  over  her 
mouth,  perhaps  at  her  throat!  His  blood  grew 
hot  with  rage  at  the  thought. 

For  three-quarters  of  an  hour  longer  the  swift 
paddling  up-stream  continued  without  interrup- 
tion. Then  the  river  widened  into  a  small  lake, 
and  Philip  was  compelled  to  hold  back  until  the 
two  canoes,  which  he  could  see  clearly  now,  had 
passed  over  the  exposed  area. 

By  the  time  he  dared  to  follow,  Jeanne's  cap-' 
tors  were  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of  him.  Hfe 
no  longer  heard  their  paddles  when  he  enterecj 
the  stream  at  the  upper  end  of  the  lake,  and  h© 
bent  to  his  work  with  greater  energy  and  lesg 
caution.  Five  minutes  —  ten  minutes  passed, 
and  he  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing.  His  strokes 
grew  more  powerful  and  the  canoe  shot  through 
the  water  with  the  swift  cleavage  of  a  knife.  A 
perspiration  began  to  gather  on  his  face,  and  a 
sudden  chilling  fear  entered  him.  Another  five 
minutes  and  he  stopped.  The  river  sw^t  out 
ahe>»d  of  him,  broad  and  clear,  for  a  quarter  of 
a  mile.     There  was  no  sign  of  the  canoes! 

119 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

For  a  few  moments  he  remained  motionless, 
drifting  back  with  the  slow  current  of  the 
stream,  stunned  by  the  thought  that  he  had 
allowed  Jeanne's  captors  to  escape  him.  Had 
they  heard  him  and  dropped  m  to  shore  to  let 
him  pass?  He  swung  his  canoe  about  and 
headed  down-stream.  In  that  case  he  could 
not  miss  them,  if  he  used  caution.  But  if  they 
had  turned  into  some  creek  hidden  m  the  gloom 
—were  even  now  pickmg  their  way  through  a 
secret  channel  that  led  back  from  the  river— 

A  groan  burst  from  his  lips  as  he  thought  of 
Jeanne.     In  that  half   mile  of   river  he  could 
surely  find  where  the  canoes  had  gone,  but  it 
might  be  too  late.     He  went  down  in  mid-stream, 
searching    the    shadows    of    both    shores.     His 
heart  sank  hke  lead  when  he  came  to  the  lake. 
There  was  but  one  thing  to  do  now,  and  he  ran 
his  canoe  close  along  the  right-hand  shore,  look- 
ing  for  an  opening.     His  progress  was  slow.     A 
dozen  times  he  entangled  hunseH  in  masses  of 
reeds  and  rice,  or  thrust  himself  under  over- 
hanging tree-tops  and  vmes  to  mvestigate  the 
deeper  gloom  beyond.     He  had  returned  two- 
thirds    of   the   distance   to   the   straight-water 
where  he  had  given  up  the  pursuit  when  the  bow 
of  his  canoe  ran  upon  a  smooth,  sandy  bar  that 
shelved  out  thirty  or  forty  feet  from  the  shore. 
Scarcely  had  he  felt  the  grate  of  sand  whai  with 
a  powerful  shove  he  sent  his  canoe  badi,  and 
ahnost  in  the  same  instant  Pierre's  rifle  waf 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

levded  menacingly  shoreward.  Drawn  up  high 
and  dry  on  the  sand-bar  were  the  two  canoes. 

For  a  space  PhiHp  expected  that  his  appearance 
would  be  the  signal  for  some  movement  ashore; 
but  as  he  drifted  slowly  away,  his  rifle  still 
leveled,  he  was  filled  more  and  more  with  the 
belief  that  he  had  not  been  discovered.  He  al- 
lowed himself  to  drift  until  he  knew  that  he  was 
hidden  in  the  shadows,  and  then  quietly  worked 
himself  in  to  shore.  Making  no  sound,  he  pulled 
himself  up  the  bank  and  crept  among  the  trees 
toward  the  bar.  There  was  no  one  guarding  the 
canoes.  He  heard  no  sound  of  voice,  no  crack- 
ling of  brush  or  movement  of  reeds.  For  a  full 
minute  he  crouched  and  Hstened.  Then  he  crept 
nearer  and  found  where  both  reeds  and  brush 
were  trampled  down  into  a  path  that  led  away 
from  the  river. 

His  heart  gave  a  bound  of  joy,  and  he  darted 
along  the  path,  holding  his  rifle  ready  for  instant 
use.  The  trail  wound  through  the  tall  grass  of 
a  dry  swamp  meadow  and,  two  hundred  yards 
beyond  the  river,  plunged  into  a  forest.  He  had 
barely  entered  this  when  he  saw  the  glow  of  a 
fire.  It  was  only  a  short  distance  ahead,  hidden 
in  a  deep  hollow  that  completely  concealed  its 
existence  from  the  keenest  eyes  that  might  pass 
along  the  river.  Stealing  cautiously  to  the  crest 
of  the  little  knoll  between  him  and  the  light, 
Philip  found  himself  within  fifty  feet  of  a  camp, 

A  big  canvas  tent  was  the  first  thing  to  come 

9  121 


FLOWEE   OF    THE    NORTH 

Within  his  vision.  The  fire  was  built  against  the 
face  of  a  rock  in  front  of  this,  and  over  the  fire 
hovered  a  man  dragging  out  beds  of  coals  with 
a  forked  stick.  Ahnost  at  the  same  moment  a 
vSecond  man  appeared  from  the  tent,  bearing 
two  huge  skillets  in  one  hand  and  a  big  pot  in  the 
other.  At  a  glance  Philip  knew  that  they  were 
preparing  to  cook  a  meal,  and  that  it  was  for 
many  instead  of  two.  Wildly  he  searched  the 
firelit  spaces  and  the  shadows  for  a  sign  of  Jeanne. 
He  saw  nothing.  She  was  not  in  the  camp. 
The  five  or  six  men  who  had  fled  up  the  river 
with  her  were  not  there.  His  fingers  dug  deep 
in  the  earth  under  him  at  the  discovery,  and  once 
more  appalling  fears  overwhelmed  him.  Per- 
haps she  had  already  met  her  fate  a  Httle  deej>er 
in  the  forest. 

He  crept  over  the  edge  of  the  knoU  and  worked 
himself  down  through  the  low  bush  on  the  op- 
posite side,  which  would  bring  him  within  a 
dozen  feet  of  the  man  over  the  fire.  There  he 
would  have  them  at  his  mercy,  and  at  the  point 
of  his  revolver  would  compel  them  to  tell  him 
where  Jeanne  had  been  taken.  The  advantage 
was  all  in  his  favor.  It  would  not  be  difficult 
to  make  them  prisoners  and  leave  them  secured 
while  he  followed  after  their  companions. 

He  was  intent  only  upon  his  plan,  and  did  not 
take  his  eyes  from  the  men  over  the  fire.  He 
came  to  the  end  of  the  bush,  and  crouched  with 
head  and  shoulders  exposed,  his  revolver  in  his 

122 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

hand.  Suddenly  a  sound  close  to  the  tent 
startled  him.  It  was  a  low  cough.  The  men 
over  the  fire  made  no  movement  to  look  behind 
them,  but  Philip  turned. 

In  the  shadow  of  a  tree,  which  had  concealed 
her  until  now,  sat  Jeanne.  She  was  tense  and 
straight.  Her  white  face  was  turned  to  him. 
Her  beautiful  eyes  glowed  like  stars.  Her  lips 
were  parted;  he  could  see  her  quick,  excited 
breathing.  She  saw  him!  She  knew  him!  He 
could  see  the  joy  of  hope  in  her  face  and  that 
she  was  crushing  back  an  impulse  to  cry  out  to 
him,  even  as  he  was  restraining  his  own  mad 
desire  to  shout  out  his  defiance  and  joy.  And 
there  in  the  firelight,  his  face  illumined,  and  ob- 
livious for  the  moment  of  the  presence  of  the 
two  men,  Philip  straightened  himself  and  held 
out  his  arms  with  a  glad  smile  to  Jeanne. 

Hardly  had  he  turned  to  the  men,  ready  to 
spring  out  upon  them,  when  there  came  a  terrific 
interruption.  There  was  a  sudden  crash  in  the 
brush  behind  him,  a  menacing  snarl,  and  a  huge 
wolfish  brute  launched  itself  at  his  throat.  The 
swift  instinct  of  self-preservation  turned  the 
weapon  intended  for  the  men  over  the  fire  upon 
this  unexpected  assailant.  The  snarling  fangs 
of  the  husky  were  gleaming  in  his  face  and  the 
animaFs  body  was  against  the  muzzle  of  his  re- 
volver when  Philip  fired.  Though  he  escaped 
the  fangs,  he  could  not  ward  off  the  impact  of 
the  dog's  body,  and  in  another  moment  he  was 

123 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

sprawling  upon  his  back  in  the  light  of  the  camp. 
Before  Philip  could  recover  himself  Jeanne's 
startled  guards  were  upon  him.  Flung  back,  he 
still  possessed  his  pistol,  and  pulled  the  trigger 
blindly.  The  report  was  muffled  and  sickening. 
At  the  same  moment  a  heavy  blow  fell  upon  his 
head,  and  a  furious  weight  crushed  him  back  to 
the  ground.  He  dropped  his  revolver.  His 
brain  reeled;  his  muscles  relaxed.  He  felt  his 
assailant's  fingers  at  his  throat,  and  their  menace 
brought  back  every  ounce  of  fighting  strength 
in  his  body.  For  a  moment  he  lay  still,  his  eyes 
closed,  the  warm  blood  flowing  over  his  face. 
He  had  worked  this  game  once  before,  years 
ago.  He  even  thought  of  that  time  now,  as  he 
lay  uprn  his  back.  It  had  worked  then,  and  it 
worked  now.  The  choking  fingers  at  his  throat 
loosened;  the  weight  lifted  itself  a  little  from  his 
chest.  The  lone  guard  thought  that  he  was 
unconscious,  and  Jeanne,  who  had  staggered  to 
her  feet,  thought  that  he  was  dead. 

It  was  her  cry,  terrible,  filled  with  agony  and 
despair,  that  urged  him  into  action  an  instant 
too  soon.  His  foe  was  still  partly  on  his  guard, 
rising  with  a  caution  bom  of  more  than  one 
wilderness  episode,  when  with  a  quick  movement 
Philip  closed  with  him.  Locked  in  a  deadly  grip, 
they  rolled  upon  the  ground;  and,  with  a  feeling 
of  despair  which  had  never  entered  into  his  soul 
before,  the  terrible  truth  came  to  Philip  that  the 
old  strength  was  gone  from  his  arms  and  that 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

with  each  added  exertion  he  was  growing  weaker. 
For  a  moment  he  saw  Jeanne.  She  stood  ahnost 
above  them,  her  hands  clutched  at  her  breast. 
And  as  he  looked,  she  suddenly  turned  and  ran 
to  the  fire.  An  instant  more  and  she  was  back, 
a  red-hot  brand  in  her  hand.  Philip  saw  it  flash 
close  to  his  eyes,  felt  the  heat  of  it;  and  then  a 
scream,  animal-like  in  its  ferocity  and  pain, 
burst  from  the  lips  of  his  antagonist.  The  man 
reeled  backward,  clutching  at  his  thick  neck, 
where  Jeanne  had  thrust  the  burning  stick. 
Philip  rose  to  his  knees.  His  fist  shot  out  like 
lightning  against  the  other's  jaw,  and  the  second 
guard  fell  back  in  a  Hmp  heap. 

Even  as  the  blow  fell,  a  loud  shout  came  from 
close  back  in  the  forest,  followed  by  the  crashing 
of  many  feet  tearing  through  the  underbrush. 


XI 


PHTLIP  and  Jeanne  stood  face  to  face  in  the 
firelight. 

"Quick!"  he  cried.     "We  must  hurry r" 

He  bent  over  to  pick  up  his  revolver  from  the 
ground.  His  movement  was  followed  by  a  low 
sob  of  pain.  Jeanne  was  swaying  as  though 
about  to  faint.  She  fell  in  a  crumpled  heap 
before  he  could  reach  her  side. 

"You  are  hurt!"  he  exclaimed.  ** Jeanne! 
Jeanne!" 

He  was  upon  his  knees  beside  her,  crying  out 
her  name,  half  holding  her  in  his  arms. 

"No,  no!  I  am  not  hurt — much,"  she  replied, 
trying  to  recover  herself.  "It  is  my  ankle.  I 
sprained  it — on  the  cliff.     Now — " 

She  became  heavier  against  his  arm.  Her 
eyes  were  limpid  with  pain. 

Rising,  Philip  caught  her  in  his  arms.  The 
crashing  of  brush  was  within  pistol-shot  distance 
of  them,  but  in  that  moment  he  felt  no  fear. 
Life  leaped  back  into  his  veins.  He  wanted  to 
shout  back  his  defiance  as  he  ran  with  Jeanne 
along  the  path  to  the  river.  He  could  feel  her 
pulsing  against  him.  His  lips  were  in  her  hair. 
Her  heart  was  beating  wildly  against  his  own. 

126 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

One  of  her  arms  was  about  his  shoulder,  her  hand 
against  his  neck.  Life,  love,  the  joy  of  pos- 
session swept  through  him  in  burning  floods, 
and  it  seemed  in  these  first  moments  of  his  con- 
tact with  Jeanne,  in  the  first  sound  of  her  voice' 
speaking  to  him,  that  the  passionate  language 
of  his  soul  must  escape  through  his  Hps.  For 
this  moment  he  had  risked  his  life,  had  taken 
a  hundred  chances;  he  had  anticipated,  and  yet 
he  had  not  dreamed  beyond  a  hundredth  part  of 
what  it  would  mean  for  him.  He  looked  down 
into  the  white  face  of  the  girl  as  he  ran.  Her 
beautiful  eyes  were  open  to  him.  Her  lips  were 
parted;  her  cheek  lay  against  his  breast.  He  did 
not  realize  how  close  he  was  holding  her  until, 
at  last,  he  stopped  where  he  had  hidden  the  canoe. 
Then  he  felt  her  beating  and  throbbing  agaiast 
him,  as  he  had  felt  the  quivering  life  of  a  fright- 
ened bird  imprisoned  in  his  hands.  She  drew  a 
deep  breath  when  he  opened  his  arms,  and  lifted 
her  head.  Her  loose  hau-  swept  over  his  breast 
and  hands. 

He  spoke  no  word  as  he  placed  her  in  the 
canoe.  Not  a  whisper  passed  between  them  as 
the  canoe  sped  swiftly  from  the  shore.  A  hun- 
dred yards  down  the  stream  Philip  headed 
straight  across  the  river  and  plunged  into  the 
shadows  along  the  opposite  bank. 

Jeanne  was  close  to  him.  He  could  hear  hef 
breathing.  Suddenly  he  felt  the  touch  of  her 
hand. 

127 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"M'sieur,  I  must  ask — ^about  Pierre!" 

There  was  the  thrill  of  fear  in  the  low  words* 
She  leaned  back,  her  face  a  pale  shadow  in  the 
deep  gloom;  and  Philip  bent  over  mi  til  he  felt 
her  breath,  and  the  sweetness  of  her  hair  filled 
his  nostrils.  Quickly  he  whispered  what  had 
happened.  He  told  her  that  Pierre  was  hurt, 
but  not  badly,  and  that  he  had  promised  to  take 
her  on  to  Fort  o*  God. 

"It  is  up  the  Churchill?"  he  questioned. 

**Yes,"  she  whispered. 

They  heard  voices  now,  and  almost  opposite 
them  they  saw  shadowy  figures  running  out  to 
the  canoes  upon  the  sand-bar. 
'"  **They  will  think  that  we  are  escaping  toward 
ChurchHl,"  said  Philip,  gloatingly.  "It  is  the 
nearest  refuge.     See — " 

One  of  the  canoes  was  laimched,  and  shot  swift- 
ly down  the  river.  A  moment  later  the  second 
followed.  The  dip  of  paddles  died  away,  and 
Philip  laughed  softly  and  joyously. 

"They  will  hunt  for  us  from  now  until  morn- 
ing between  here  and  the  Bay.  And  th«i  they 
will  look  for  you  agaiu  in  Churchill." 

Philip  was  conscious,  almost  without  seeingj 
that  Jeanne  had  bowed  her  head  in  her  arms, 
and  that  she  was  giving  way  now  to  the  terrific 
strain  which  she  had  been  under.  Not  until  he 
heard  a  low  sob,  which  she  strove  hard  to  choke 
back  in  her  throat,  did  he  dare  to  lean  over 
again  and  touch  her.    Whatever  was  throbbing 

1£8 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

in   his   heart,  he  knew   that  he  must  hide  it 
now. 

"You  read  the  letter?"  he  asked,  softly. 

"Yes,  M'sieur/' 

**Then  you  know — that  you  are  safe  with  me!" 

ITiere  was  pride  and  strength,  the  ring  of 
triumph  in  his  voice.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  man 
thrilled  by  his  own  strength,  by  the  warmth  of 
a  great  love,  by  the  knowledge  that  he  was  the 
protector  of  a  creature  dearer  to  him  than  all 
else  on  earth.  The  truth  of  it  set  Jeanne  quiv- 
ering. She  reached  out  until  in  the  darkness 
her  two  hands  found  one  of  Philip's,  and  for  a 
moment  she  held  his  paddle  motionless  in  midair. 

"Thank  you,  M'sieur,"  she  whispered.  "I 
trust  you,  as  I  would  trust  Pierre." 

All  the  words  that  women  had  ever  spoken  to 
Mm  were  as  nothing  to  those  few  that  fell  soft- 
ly from  Jeanne's  lips;  in  the  clinging  pressure  of 
her  fingers  as  she  uttered  them  were  the  con- 
craitrated  joys  of  all  that  he  had  dreamed  of  in 
the  touch  of  women.  He  knelt  silent,  motion- 
less, until  her  hands  left  his  own. 

"I  am  to  take  you  to  Fort  o'  God,"  he  said, 
fighting  to  keep  the  tremble  of  joy  out  of  his 
voice.     "And  you — ^you  must  guide  me.'* 

"It  is  far  up  the  Churchill,"  she  replied,  under- 
standing the  question  he  intended.  "It  is  two 
hundred  miles  from  the  Bay." 

He  put  his  strength  into  his  paddle  for  ten 
minutes,  and  then   ran    the  canoe  into  shore 

129 


FLOWER   OF   THE   NORTH 

fully  half  a  mile  above  the  sand-bar.     He  stepped 
out  into  water  up  to  his  knees. 

**We  must  risk  a  little  time  here  to  attend  to 
your  injured  ankle,"  he  explained.  "Then  you 
can  arr  mge  yourself  comfortably  among  these 
robes  in  the  bow.     Shall  I  carry  you.?'* 

"You  can— help,"  said  Jeanne.  She  gave 
him  her  hand  and  made  an  effort  to  rise.  In- 
stantly she  sank  back  with  a  sob  of  pain. 

It  wa^  strange  that  her  pain  should  fill  him 
with  a  wonderful  joy.  He  knew  that  she  was 
suffering,  that  she  could  not  walk  or  stand  alone. 
And  yet,  back  at  the  camp,  she  had  risen  in  her 
torture  and  had  come  to  his  rescue.  She  could 
not  bear  her  own  weight  now,  but  then  she  had 
ruH  to  him  and  had  fought  for  him.  The 
knowledge  that  she  had  done  this,  and  for  him, 
filled  him  with  an  exquisite  sensation. 

"I  must  carry  you,"  he  said,  speaking  to  her 
with  the  calm  decision  that  he  might  have 
voiced  to  a  little  child.  His  tone  reassured  her, 
and  she  made  no  remonstrance  when  he  lifted 
her  in  his  arms.  For  a  brief  moment  she  lay 
against  him  again,  and  when  he  lowered  her  upor 
the  bank  his  hand  accidentally  touched  the  soft 
warmth  of  her  face. 

"My  specialty  is  sprains,"  he  said,  speaking 
a  little  lightly  to  raise  her  spirits  for  the  instant's 
ordeal  through  which  she  must  pass.  "I  have 
doctored  half  a  dozen  during  the  last  three 
months.     You   must   take    off    your    moccasm 

130 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

and  your  stocking,  and  I  will  make  a  band- 
age." 

He  drew  a  big  handkerchief  from  his  pocket 
and  dipped  it  in  the  water.  Then  he  searched 
along  the  shore  for  a  dozen  paces,  untU  he  found 
an  Indian  wUlow.  With  his  knife  he  scraped 
off  a  handful  of  bark,  soaked  it  in  water,  crushed 
it  between  his  hands,  and  returned  to  her. 
Jeanne's  little  foot  lay  naked  in  the  star- 
light. 

"It  will  hurt  just  a  moment,"  he  said,  gen- 
tly. "But  it  is  the  only  cure.  To-morrow  it  will 
be  strong  enough  for  you  to  stand  upon.  Can 
you  bear  a  little  hr<irt.'^" 

He  knelt  before  her  and  looked  up,  scarce 
daring  to  touch  her  foot  before  she  spoke. 

*'I  may  cry,"  she  said. 

Her  voice  fluttered,  but  it  gave  him  per- 
mission. He  folded  the  wet  handkerchief  in  the 
form  of  a  bandage,  with  the  willow  bark  spread 
over  it.  Then,  very  gently,  he  seized  her  foot 
in  one  hand  and  her  ankle  in  the  other. 

**It  will  hurt  just  a  Uttle,"  he  soothed. 
**Only  a  moment." 

His  fingers  tightened.  He  put  into  them  the 
whole  strength  of  his  grip,  pulling  downward  on 
the  foot  and  upward  on  the  ankle  until,  with  a 
low  cry,  Jeanne  flung  her  hands  over  his. 

"There,  it  is  done,"  he  laughed,  nervously. 
He  wrapped  the  bandage  around  so  tightly  that 
leanne  could  not  move  her  foot,  and  tied  it  with 

131 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

strips  of  cloth.    Then  he  t^^raed  to  the  canoo 
while  she  drew  on  her  stocking  and  moccasin. 

He  was  trembling.  A  maddening  joy  pounded 
in  his  brain.  Jeanne's  voice  came  to  him  sweetly, 
with  a  shyness  in  it  that  made  him  feel  like  a 
boy.  He  was  glad  that  the  night  concealed  his 
face.  He  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  seen 
Jeanne's. 

"I  am  ready,"  she  said. 

He  carried  her  to  the  bow  of  the  canoe  and 
fixed  her  among  the  robes,  arrangmg  a  place  for 
her  head  so  that  she  might  sleep  if  she  wished. 
For  the  first  time  the  light  was  so  that  he  could 
see  her  plainly  as  she  nestled  back  in  the  place 
made  for  her.     Their  eyes  met  for  a  moment. 

"You  must  sleep,"  he  urged.  "I  shall  paddle 
all  night." 

"You  are  sure  that  Pierre  is  not  badly  hurt?" 
she  asked,  tremulously.  "You — ^you  would  not 
— ^keep  the  truth  from  me?" 

*'He  was  not  more  than  stunned,"  assured 
Philip.  "It  is  impossible  that  his  wound  should 
prove  serious.  Only  there  was  no  time  to  lose, 
and  I  came  without  him.  He  will  follow  us 
soon." 

He  took  his  position  in  the  stem,  and  Jeanne 
lay  back  among  the  bearskins.  For  a  long  time 
after  that  Philip  paddled  in  silence.  He  had 
hoped  that  Jeanne  would  give  him  an  oppor- 
tumty  to  continue  their  conversation,  in  spite  of 
his  advice  to  her  to  secure  what  rest  she  could.  \ 

132 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

But  there  came  no  promise  from  the  bow  of  the 
canoe.  After  half  an  hour  he  guessed  that 
Jeanne  had  taken  him  at  his  word,  and  was 
asleep. 

It  was  disappointing,  and  yet  there  came  a 
pleasurable    throb    with    his    disappointment. 
Jeanne  trusted  him.     She  was  sleeping  under 
his  protection  as  sweetly  as  a  child.     Fear  of 
her  enemies  no  longer  kept  her  awake  or  filled 
her  with  terror.     This  night,  under  these  stars, 
with  the  wilderness  all  about  them,  she  had  given 
herself   into   his   keeping.     His   cheeks   burned. 
He  dipped  his  paddle  noiselessly,  so  that  he  might 
not  interrupt  her  slumber.     Each  moment  added 
to  the  fullness  of  his  joy,  and  he  wished  that  he 
might  only  see  her  face,  hidden  in  the  darkness 
of  her  hair  and  the  bear-robes. 
f    The  silence  no  longer  seemed  a  silence  to  him. 
It  was  filled  with  the  beating  of  his  heart,  the 
singing  of  his  love,  a  gentle  sigh  now  and  then 
that  came  like  a  deeper  breath  between  Jeanne's 
sweet  lips.     It  was  a  silence  that  pulsated  with 
a  voiceless  and  intoxicating  life  for  him,  and  he 
was  happy.     In  these  moments,  when  even  their 
voices  were  stilled,  Jeanne  belonged  to  him,  and 
to  him  alone.    He  could  feel  the  warmth  of  her 
presence.  ^  He  felt  still  the  thrill  of  her  breast 
against  his  own,  the  touch  of  her  hair  upon  his 
lips,  the  gentle  clinging  of  her  arms.     The  spirit 
of  her  moved,  and  sat  awake,  and  talked  with 
him,  just  as  the  old  spirit  of  his  dreams  had 

133 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

communed  with  him  a  thousand  times  in  his 
loneliness.  Dreams  were  at  an  end.  Now  had 
come  reality. 

He  looked  up  into  the  sky.  The  moon  had 
dropped  below  the  southwestern  forests,  and 
there  were  only  the  stars  above  him,  filling  a 
gray-blue  vault  in  which  there  was  not  even  the 
lingering  mist  of  a  cloud.  It  was  a  beautifully 
clear  night,  and  he  wondered  how  the  light  fell 
so  that  it  did  not  reveal  Jeanne  in  her  nest.  The 
thought  that  came  to  him  then  set  his  heart 
tingling  and  made  his  face  radiant.  Even  the 
stars  were  guarding  Jeanne,  and  refused  to  dis- 
close the  mystery  of  her  slumber.  He  laughed 
within  himself.  His  being  throbbed,  and  sud* 
denly  a  voice  seemed  to  cry  softly,  trembling  in 
its  joy: 

"Jeanne!  Jeanne!    My  beloved  Jeanne!" 

With  horror  Philip  caught  himself  too  late. 
He  had  spoken  the  words  aloud.  For  an  instant 
reality  had  transformed  itself  into  the  old  dream, 
and  his  dream-spirit  had  called  to  its  mate  for 
the  first  time  in  words.  Appalled  at  what  he  had 
said,  Philip  bent  over  and  listened.  He  heard 
Jeanne's  breathing.  It  was  deeper  than  before. 
She  was  surely  asleep! 

He  straightaied  himself  and  resumed  his  pad- 
dling. He  was  glad  now  that  he  had  spoken. 
Jeanne  seemed  nearer  to  him  after  those  words. 

Before  this  night  he  never  realized  how  beauti* 
f ul  the  wilderness  was,  how  complete  it  could  be. 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

It  had  offered  him  visions  of  new  life,  but  these 
visions  had  never  quite  shut  out  the  memories  of 
old  pain.  He  watched  and  hstened.  The  water 
rippled  behind  his  canoe;  it  trickled  in  a  sooth- 
ing cadence  after  each  dip  of  his  paddle;  he  heard 
the  gentle  mumur  of  it  among  the  reeds  and 
grasses,  and  now  and  then  the  gurgling  laughter 
of  it,  like  the  faintest  tinkUng  of  dainty  bells. 
He  had  never  understood  it  before;  he  had  never 
joined  in  its  happiness.  The  night  sounds  came 
to  him  with  a  different  meaning,  filled  him  with 
different  sensations.  As  he  slipped  quietly 
around  a  bend  in  the  river  he  heard  a  splashing 
ahead  of  him,  and  knew  that  a  moose  was  feed- 
ing, belly-deep,  in  the  water.  At  other  times  the 
sound  would  have  set  his  fingers  itching  for  a 
rifle,  but  now  it  was  a  part  of  the  music  of  the 
night.  Later  he  heard  the  crashing  of  a  heavy 
body  along  the  shore  and  in  the  distance  the 
lonely  howl  of  a  wolf.  He  listened  to  the  sounds 
with  a  quiet  pleasure  instead  of  creeping  thrills 
which  they  once  sent  through  him.  Every  sound 
spoke  of  Jeanne — of  Jeanne  and  her  world,  into 
which  each  stroke  of  his  paddle  carried  them  a 
tittle  deeper. 

And  yet  the  truth  could  not  but  come  to  him 
that  Jeanne  was  but  a  stranger.  She  was  a 
creature  of  mystery,  as  she  lay  there  asleep  in 
the  bow  of  the  canoe;  he  loved  her,  and  yet  he 
did  not  know  her.  He  confessed  to  himself,  as 
ihe  night  lengthened,  that  he  would  be  glad  when 

135 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

morning  came.  Jeanne  would  clear  up  a  half 
of  his  perplexities  then,  perhaps  all  of  them.  He 
would  at  least  learn  more  about  herself  and  the 
reason  for  the  attack  at  Fort  Churchill. 

He  paddled  for  another  hour,  and  then  looked 
at  his  watch  by  the  light  of  a  match.  It  was 
three  o'clock, 

Jeanne  had  not  moved,  but  as  the  match 
burned  out  between  his  fingers  she  startled  him 
by  speaking. 

"Is  it  nearly  morning,  M'sieur?" 

"An  hour  until  dawn,"  said  Philip.  "You 
have  been  sleeping  a  long  time — "  Her  name 
was  on  his  lips,  but  he  found  it  a  little  more 
difficult  to  speak  now.  And  yet  there  was  a 
gentleness  in  Jeanne's  '* m'sieur**  which  en- 
couraged him.  "Are  you  getting  hungry.''"  he 
asked. 

"Pierre  and  my  father  always  ask  me  that 
when  they  are  starving,"  replied  Jeanne,  sitting 
erect  in  her  nest  so  that  Philip  saw  her  face 
and  the  shimmer  of  her  hair.  "There  is  every- 
thing to  eat  in  the  pack,  M'sieur  Philip,  even  to 
a  bottle  of  olives." 

"Good!"  cried  Philip,  delighted.  "But  won't 
you  please  cut  out  that  *  m'sieur?*  My  greatest 
weakness  is  a  desire  to  be  called  by  my  first 
name.     Will  you?" 

"If  it  pleases  you,"  said  Jeanne.  "There  is 
everything  there  to  eat,  and  I  will  make  you  a 
cup  of  coffee,  M'sieur — " 

136 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"What?" 
"Philip." 

There  was  a  ripple  of  laughta:  in  the  girFs 
voice.     Philip  fairly  trembled. 

"You  were  prepared  for  this  journey,"  he  said. 
**You  were  going  to  leave  after  you  saw  me  on 
the  rock.  I  have  been  wondering  why — why 
you  took  enough  interest  in  me — " 

He  knew  that  he  was  blundering,  and  in  the 
darkness  his  face  turned  red.  Jeanne's  tact  was 
dehghtful. 

"We  were  curious  about  you,"  she  said,  with 
bewitching  candor.  "Pierre  is  the  most  in- 
quisitive creature  in  the  world,  and  I  wanted  to 
thank  you  for  returning  my  handkerchief.  I'm 
sorry  you  didn't  find  a  bit  of  lace  which  I  lost 
at  the  same  time!" 

"I  did!"  exclaimed  Philip. 

He  bit  his  tongue,  and  cursed  himself  at  this 
fresh  break.  Jeanne  was  silent.  After  a  mo- 
ment she  said: 

"Shall  I  make  you  some  coffee?" 

"Will  you  be  able  to  do  it?     Your  foot—" 

"I  had  forgotten  that,"  she  said.  "It  doesn't 
hurt  any  more.     But  I  can  show  you  how." 

Her  unaffected  ingenuousness,  the  sweetness 
of  her  voice,  the  simphcity  and  ease  of  her  man- 
ner delighted  Philip,  and  at  the  same  time  filled 
him  with  amazement.  He  had  never  met  a 
forest  girl  like  Jeanne.  Her  beauty,  her  queen- 
like bearing,  when  she  had  stood  with  Pierre  on 

10  187 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

the  rock,  had  puzzled  him  and  filled  him  with 
admiration.  But  now  her  voice,  the  music  of 
her  words,  her  quickness  of  perception  added 
tenfold  to  those  impressions.  It  might  have 
been  Miss  Brokaw  who  was  sitting  there  in  the 
bow  talking  to  him,  only  Jeanne's  voice  was 
sweeter  than  Miss  Brokaw's;  and  even  in  the 
lightest  of  the  words  she  had  sf>oken  there  was 
a  tone  of  sincerity  and  truth.  It  flashed  upon 
Philip  that  Jeanne  might  have  stepped  from  a 
convent  school,  where  gentle  voices  had  taught 
her  and  language  was  formed  in  the  ripe  full- 
ness of  music.  In  a  moment  he  beheved  that 
something  like  this  had  happened. 

"We  will  go  ashore,"  he  said,  searching  for  an 
open  space.  "This  must  be  tedious  to  you,  if 
you  are  not  accustomed  to  it." 

"Accustomed  to  it,  M'sieur— Philip !"  ex- 
claimed Jeanne,  catching  herself.  "I  was  bom 
here!" 

"In  the  wilderness?" 

"At  Fort  o'  God." 

"You  have  not  always  lived  there?" 

For  a  brief  space  Jeanne  was  silent. 

"Yes,  always,  M'sieur.  I  am  eighteen  years 
Did,  and  this  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  ever 
seen  what  you  people  call  civilization.  It  is  my 
first  visit  to  Fort  Churchill.  It  is  the  first  time 
I  have  ever  been  away  from  Fort  o'  God." 

Jeanne's  voice  was  low  and  subdued.  It  rang 
with  truth.     In  it  there  was  something  that  was 

138 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

almost  tragedy.  For  a  breath  or  two  Philip's 
heart  seemed  to  stop  its  beating,  and  he  leaned 
far  over,  looking  straight  and  questioningly  into 
the  beautiful  face  that  met  his  own.  In  that 
moment  the  world  had  opened  and  engulfed  him 
in  a  wonder  which  at  D^t  his  mind  could  not 
comprehend. 


THE  canoe  ran  among   the    reeds,  with  ita 
bow  to  the   shore.     Philip's    astonishment 
still  held  him  motionless. 

"A  little  while  ago  you  asked  me  if  I  would 
tell  you  anything  but — ^but — the  truth,"  he 
stammered,  trying  to  find  words  to  express  him- 
self, "and  this — " 

"Is  the  truth,"  interrupted  Jeanne,  a  little 
coolly.  "Why  should  I  tell  you  an  untruth, 
M'sieur?" 

Philip  had  asked  himself  that  same  question 
shortly  after  their  first  meeting  on  the  cliff.  And 
now  in  the  girl's  question  there  was  sounded  a 
warning  for  him  to  be  more  discreet. 

"I  did  not  mean  that,"  he  cried,  quickly. 
*' Please  forgive  me.  Only— it  is  so  wonderful, 
so  almost  impossible  to  believe.  Do  you  know 
what  I  thought  of  for  three-quarters  of  the  night 
after  I  left  you  and  Pierre  on  the  rock?  It  was 
of  years — centuries  ago.  I  put  you  and  Pierre 
back  there.  It  seemed  as  though  you  had  come 
to  me  from  out  of  another  world,  that  you  had 
strayed  from  the  chivalry  and  beauty  of  some 
royal  court,  that  a  queen's  pamter  might  have 

140 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

known  and  made  a  picture  of  you,  as  I  saw  you 
there,  but  that  to  me  you  were  only  the  vision 
of  a  dream.  And  now  you  say  that  you  have 
always  lived  here!'* 

He  saw  Jeanne's  eyes  glowing.  She  had  lifted 
herself  from  among  the  bearskins  and  was  lean- 
ing toward  him.  Her  face  was  quivering  with 
emotion;  her  whole  being  seemed  concentrated 
on  his  words. 

"M'sieur — ^Philip — did  we  seem — ^like  that?" 
she  asked,  tremulously. 

"Yes,  or  I  would  not  have  written  the  letter," 
replied  Philip.  He  leaned  forward  over  the 
pack,  and  his  face  was  close  to  Jeanne's.  **I 
had  just  passed  over  the  place  where  men  and 
women  of  a  century  or  two  ago  were  buried, 
and  when  I  saw  you  and  Pierre  I  thought  of 
^them;  of  Mademoiselle  D' Argon,  who  left  a 
prince  to  follow  her  lover  to  a  grave  back  there 
at  Churchill,  and  I  wondered  if  Grosellier — " 

"Grosellier!"  cried  the  girl. 

She  was  breathing  quickly,  excitedly.  Sud- 
denly she  drew  back  with  a  little,  nervous 
laugh. 

"I  am  glad  you  thought  of  us  like  that,*^  she 
added.  "It  was  Grosellier,  le  grand  chevalier, 
who  first  lived  at  Fort  o'  God!" 

Philip  could  no  longer  restrain  himself.  He 
forgot  that  the  canoe  was  lying  motionless  among 
the  reeds  and  that  they  were  to  go  ashore.  In 
a  voice  that  trembled  with  his  eagerness  to  be 

141 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

understood,  to  win  her  confidence,  he  told  her 
fully  of  what  had  happened  that  night  on  the 
clifiF.  He  repeated  Pierre's  instructions  to  him, 
described  his  terrible  fear  for  her,  and  in  it  all 
withheld  but  one  thing — ^the  name  of  Lord  Fitz- 
hugh  Lee.  Jeanne  listened  to  him  without  a 
word.  She  sat  as  erect  as  one  of  the  slender 
reeds  among  which  the  canoe  was  hidden.  Her 
dark  eyes  never  left  his  face.  They  seemed  to 
have  grown  darker  when  he  finished. 

"May  the  great  God  reward  you  for  what  you 
have  done,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  quivering 
with  a  suppressed  passion.  "You  are  brave, 
M'sieur  PhiHp — as  brave  as  I  have  dreamed  of 
men  being." 

PhiHp's  heart  throbbed  with  delight,  and  yet 
he  said  quickly: 

"It  isn't  that.  I  have  done  nothing — ^nothing 
more  than  Pierre  would  have  done  for  me.  But 
don't  you  understand?  If  there  is  to  be  a  re 
ward  for  the  little  I  have  given — I  could  ask  for 
nothing  greater  than  your  confidence  and  Pierre's. 
There  are  reasons,  and  perhaps  if  I  told  you  those 
you  would  understand." 

"I  do  understand,  without  further  explana- 
tion," answered  Jeanne,  in  the  same  low,  strained 
voice.  "You  fought  for  Pierre  on  the  cliff,  and 
you  have  saved — me.  We  owe  you  everything, 
even  our  lives.  I  understand,  M'sieur  Philip," 
«he  said,  more  softly,  leaning  still  nearer  to  him; 
"but  I  can  tell  you  nothing." 

14A 


FLOWER   OF   THE   NORTH 

**You  prefer  to  leave  that  to  Pierre,"  lie  said, 
a  little  hurt.     "I  beg  your  pardon." 

**  No,  no !  I  don't  mean  that !"  she  cried,  quick- 
ly. "You  misimderstand  me.  I  mean  that  you 
know  as  much  of  this  whole  affair  as  I  do,  that 
you  know  what  I  know,  and  perhaps  more," 

The  emotion  which  she  had  suppressed  burst 
forth  now  in  a  choking  sob.  She  recovered  her- 
self in  an  instant,  her  eyes  still  upon  Philip. 

"It  was  only  a  whim  of  mine  that  took  us  to 
ChurchiD,"  she  went  cm,  before  he  could  find 
words  to  say.  "It  is  Pierre's  secret  why  we 
lived  in  our  own  camp  and  went  down  into 
Churchill  but  once — when  the  ship  came  in.  I 
do  not  know  the  reason  for  the  attack.  I  can 
only  guess — " 

"And  your  guess — " 

Jeanne  drew  back.  For  a  moment  she  did  not 
speak.  Then  she  said,  without  a  note  of  harsh- 
ness in  her  voice,  but  with  the  finality  of  a  queen: 

"Father  may  tell  you  that  wh«i  we  reach  Fort 
o'  God!" 

And  thai  she  suddenly  leaned  toward  him 
again  and  held  out  both  her  hands. 

"If  you  only  could  know  how  I  thank  you!", 
she  exclaimed,  impulsively. 

For  a  moment  Philip  held  her  hands.  He  felt 
them  trembling.  In  Jeanne's  eyes  he  saw  the 
glisten  of  tears. 

"Circumstances  have  come  about  so  strange- 
ly," he  said,  his  heart  palpitating  at  the  warm 

143 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

pressure  of  her  fingers,  "that  I  half  believed  you 
and  Pierre  could  help  me  in — in  an  affair  of  my 
own.  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  find  a  certahi 
person,  and  after  the  attack  on  the  cliff,  and 
what  Pierre  said,  I  thought — " 

He  hesitated,  and  Jeanne  gently  drew  her 
han(k  from  him. 

"I  thought  that  you  might  know  him,"  he 
finished.  "His  name  is  Lord  Fitzhugh  Lee.'* 

Jeanne  gave  no  sign  that  she  had  heard  the 
name  before.  The  question  in  her  eyes  remained 
unchanged. 

"We  have  never  heard  of  him  at  Fort  o'  God," 
she  said. 

Philip  shoved  the  canoe  more  firmly  upon  the 
shore  and  stepped  over  the  side. 

"This  Fort  o'  God  must  be  a  wonderful 
place,"  he  said,  as  he  bent  over  to  help  her. 
"You  have  aroused  something  in  me  I  never 
thought  I  possessed  before — a  tremendous  curi- 
osity." 

"It  is  a  w(Kiderful  place,  M'sieur  Philip,"  re- 
plied the  girl,  holding  up  her  hands  to  him, 
"But  why  should  you  guess  it?" 

"Because  of  you,"  laughed  Philip.  "I  am  half 
convinced  that  you  take  a  wicked  delight  in 
bewildering  me." 

He  found  Jeanne  a  comfortable  spot  oa 
the  bank,  brought  her  one  of  the  bearskins, 
and  began  collecting  a  pile  of  dry  reeds  and 
wood. 

144 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

**I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  went  on.  He  struck  a 
match,  and  the  reeds  flared  into  flame,  lighting 
up  his  face. 

Jeanne  gave  a  startled  cry. 

"You  are  hurt!"  she  exclaimed.  "Your  face 
is  red  with  blood." 

Philip  jumped  back. 

"I  had  forgotten  that.     I'll  wash  my  face." 

He  waded  into  the  edge  of  the  water  and  be- 
gan scrubbing  himself.  When  he  returned, 
Jeanne  looked  at  him  closely.  The  fire  illu- 
mined her  pale  face.  She  had  gathered  her  beau- 
tiful hair  in  a  thick  braid,  which  fell  over  her 
shoulder.  She  appeared  lovelier  to  him  now 
than  when  he  had  first  seen  her  in  the  night-glow 
on  the  cliff.  She  was  dressed  the  same.  He 
observed  that  the  filmy  bit  of  lace  about  her 
slender  throat  was  torn,  and  that  one  side  of 
her  short  buckskin  skirt  was  covered  with  half- 
dried  splashes  of  mud.  His  blood  rose  at  these 
signs  of  the  rough  treatment  of  those  who  had 
attacked  her.  It  reached  fever -heat  when, 
coming  nearer,  he  saw  a  livid  bruise  on  her  fore- 
head close  up  under  her  hair. 

"They  struck  you?"  he  demanded. 

He  stood  with  his  hands  clenched.  She 
smiled  up  at  him. 

"It  was  my  fault,"  she  explained.  "I'm 
afraid  I  gave  them  a  good  deal  of  trouble  on 
the  cliff." 

She    laughed    outright    at    the    fierceness    in 

145 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

PhiKp's  face,  and  so  sweet  was  the  sound  of  it 
to  him  that  his  hands  relaxed  and  he  laughed 
with  her. 

"So  help  me,  you're  a  brick T*  he  cried. 

**  There  are  pots  and  kettles  and  coffee  and 
things  to  eat  in  the  pack,  M'sieur  Philip,"  re- 
minded Jeanne,  softly,  as  he  still  remained  star- 
ing down  upon  her. 

Philip  turned  to  the  canoe,  with  a  laugh  that 
was  like  a  boy's.  He  threw  the  padi  at  Jeanne's 
feet  and  unstrapped  it.  Together  they  sorted 
out  the  things  they  wanted,  and  Philip  cut 
crotched  sticks  on  which  he  suspended  two  pots 
of  water  over  the  fire.  He  found  himself  whis- 
tling as  he  gathered  an  armful  of  wood  along  the 
shore.  When  he  came  back  Jeanne  had  opened 
a  bottle  of  olives  and  was  nibbling  at  one,  while 
she  held  out  another  to  him  on  the  end  of  a  fork. 

"I  love  olives,"  she  said.  "Won't  you  have 
one?" 

He  accepted  the  thing,  and  ate  it  joyously, 
though  he  hated  olives. 

"Where  did  you  acquire  the  taste?"  he  asked. 
"I  thought  it  took  a  course  at  college  to  make 
one  like  'em." 

"I've  been  to  college,"  answered  Jeanne,  quiet- 
ly. There  was  a  glow  in  her  cheeks  now,  a  swift 
flash  of  tantalizing  fun  in  her  eyes,  as  she  fished 
after  another  olive.  "I  have  been  a  student — • 
a  teneris  annis,**  she  added,  and  he  stood  stupe* 

fied. 

146 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

"That's  Latin!"  he  gasped. 
'*Oui  M'siem.     Wollen   Sie   noch   eine   Olive 
kabenf* 

Laughter  rippled  in  her  throat.  She  held  out 
another  oHve  to  him,  her  face  aglow.  Firelight 
danced  in  her  hair,  flooding  its  darker  shadows 
with  lights  of  red  and  gold. 
^^  "I  was  sure  of  it,"  he  exclaimed,  convinced. 
"That's  post-graduate  Latin  and  senior  German, 
or  I'm  as  mad  as  a  March  haxe!  Where— where 
did  you  go  to  school.?" 

"At  Fort  o'  God.  Quick,  IVTsieur  Philip,  the 
water  is  boiling  over!" 

Philip  sprang  to  the  fire.  Jeanne  handed  him 
coffee,  and  set  out  cold  meat  and  bread.  For 
the  first  time  that  night  he  pulled  out  his  pipe 
and  filled  it  with  tobacco. 

"You  don't  mind  if  I  smoke,  do  you.  Miss 
Jeanne?"  he  groaned.  "Under  some  circum- 
stances tobacco  is  the  only  thing  that  will  hold 
me  np.  Do  you  know  that  you  are  shaking  my 
confidence  in  you.''" 

"I  have  told  you  nothing  but  the  truth,"  re- 
torted Jeanne,  mnocently.  She  was  still  busy- 
ing herself  over  the  pack,  but  Philip  caught  the 
slightest  gleam  of  her  laughing  teeth. 
^^  "You  are  making  fun  of  me,"  he  remonstrated. 
"Tell  me— where  is  this  Fort  o'  God,  and  what 
is  it.?" 

"It  is  far  up  the  Churchill,  M'sieur  Philip.  It 
is  a  log  chateau,  built  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 

147 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

years  ago,  I  guess.  My  father,  Pierre,  and  I, 
with  one  other,  live  there  alone  among  the  sav- 
ages. I  have  never  been  so  far  away  from  home 
before.'* 

"I  suppose,"  said  Philip,  "that  the  savages 
up  your  way  converse  in  Latin,  Greek,  and  Ger- 
man— " 

"Latin,  French,  and  German,*'  corrected 
Jeanne.     "We  haven't  added  a  Greek  course 

yet." 

"I  know  of  a  girl,"  mused  Philip,  as  though 
speaking  to  himself,  "who  spent  five  years  in  a 
girls'  college,  and  she  can  talk  nothing  but  light 
English.     Her  name  is  Eileen  Brokaw." 

Jeanne  looked  up,  but  only  to  point  to  the 
coffee. 

"It  is  done,"  she  advised,  "unless  you  like  it 
bitter." 


xm 

PHILIP  knew  that  Jeanne  was  watching  him 
as  he  lifted  the  coflFee  from  the  fire  and 
placed  the  pot  on  the  ground  to  cool.  His  mind 
was  in  a  hopeless  tangle — a  riot  of  things  he 
would  like  to  say,  throbbing  with  a  hundred 
questions  he  would  like  to  ask,  one  after  another. 
And  yet  Jeanne  seemed  bewitchingly  uncon- 
scious of  his  uneasiness.  Not  one  of  his  refer- 
ences to  names  and  events  so  vital  to  himself 
had  in  any  way  produced  a  change  in  her.  Was 
she,  after  aU,  innocent  of  all  knowledge  in  the 
things  he  wished  to  know?  Was  it  possible  that 
she  was  entirely  ignorant  as  to  the  identity  of 
the  men  who  had  attacked  Pierre  and  herself 
on  the  cliff?  Was  it  true  that  she  did  not  know 
Eileen  Brokaw,  that  she  had  never  heard  of 
Lord  Fitzhugh  Lee,  and  that  she  had  always 
lived  among  the  wild  people  of  the  north?  By 
what  miracle  performed  here  in  the  heart  of  a 
savage  world  could  this  girl  talk  to  him  in  Ger- 
man and  Latin?  Was  she  making  fun  of  him? 
He  turned  to  look  at  her  and  found  her  dark, 
dear  eyes  upon  him.  She  smiled  at  him  in  a 
tired  little  way,  and  he  saw  nothing  but  sweet- 
ness and  truth  in  her  face.     In  an  instant  every 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

suspicion  was  swept  away.     He  felt  like  a  crimi- 
nal for  having  doubted  her;  and  for  a  moment  he 
was  on  the  point  of  confessing  to  her  what  had 
been  in  his  thoughts.     He  restrained  himself, 
and  went  to  the  river  to  wash  the  pot-black  from 
his  hands.     Jeanne  was  a  mystery  to  him,   a 
mystery  that  delighted  him  and  filled  him  each 
moment  with  a  deeper  love.     He  saw  the  life 
and  freedom  of  the  forests  in  her  every  move- 
ment— ^in  the  gesture  of  her  hands,  the  bird-like 
poise  of  her  pretty  head,  the  hthe  grace  of  her 
slender    body.     She    breathed    the    forests.     It 
glowed  in  her  eyes,  in  the  rich  red  of  her  Hps, 
and  revealed  its  beauty  and  strength  in  the  un- 
confined  wealth  of  her  gold-brown  hair.     In  a 
dozen  ways  he  could  see  her  primitiveness,  her 
kinship  to  the  wilderness.     She  had  told  him  the 
truth.     Her  eyes  smiled  truth  at  him  as  he  came 
up  the  bank.     No  other  woman's  eyes  had  ever 
looked  at  him  like  hers;    none  had  he  seen  so 
beautiful.     And   yet   in   them  he  saw  nothing 
that  she  would  not  have  expressed  in  words — 
companionship,  trust,  thankfulness  that  he  was 
there  to  care  for  her.     Such  eyes  as  those  be- 
longed only  to  the  wildeme^,  brimming  with 
the  flawless  beauty  of  an  undefiled  nature.     He 
had  seen  them,  but  not  so  beautiful,  in  Cree 
women.     He  thought  of  Eileen  Brokaw's  eyes 
as    he    looked    at    Jeanne's.     They    were    very 
beautiful,    but    they    were    different.    Jeanne's 
could  not  lie. 

150 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

On  a  white  napkin  Jeanne  had  spread  out  cold 
meat,  bread,  picklas,  and  cheese,  and  Philip 
Inxjught  her  the  coffee.  He  noticed  that  she  was 
resting  a  little  of  her  weight  upon  her  injured 
ankle. 

"Better?**  he  asked,  indicating  the  bandaged 
ankle  with  a  nod  of  his  head. 

"Much,**  relied  Jeanne,  as  tersely.  "I'm 
going  to  try  standing  upon  it  in  a  few  minutes. 
But  not  now.     I'm  starved." 

She  gave  him  his  coffee  and  began  eating  with 
a  relish  that  made  him  want  to  sit  back  and 
watch  her.  Instead,  he  joined  her;  and  they 
ate  like  two  hungry  children.  It  was  when  she 
turned  him  out  a  second  cup  of  coffee  that  Philip 
noticed  her  hand  tremble  a  httle. 

"If  Pierre  was  here  we  would  be  quite  happy, 
M'sieur  Philip,"  she  said,  imeasUy.  "I  can't 
imderstand  why  he  asked  you  to  run  away  with 
me  to  Fort  o'  God.  If  he  is  not  badly  hurt,  as 
you  have  told  me,  why  do  we  not  hide  and  wait 
for  him?     He  would  overtake  us  to-morrow." 

"There — there  was  no  time  to  talk  over  plans," 
answered  Philip,  inwardly  embarrassed  for  a  mo- 
ment by  the  unexpectedness  of  Jeanne's  question. 
A  vision  of  Pierre,  bleeding  and  unconscious  on 
the  cliff,  leaped  into  his  mind,  and  the  thought 
that  he  had  lied  to  Jeanne  and  must  still  make 
her  believe  what  was  half  false  sickened  him. 
There  was,  after  all,  a  chance  that  Pierre  would 
never  again  come  up  the  Churchill.     "Perhaps 

151 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Pierre  thought  we  would  be  hotly  pursued,"  he 
went  on,  seeing  no  escape  from  the  demand  in 
the  girl's  eyes.  "In  that  event  it  would  be  best 
for  me  to  get  you  to  Fort  o'  God  as  quickly  as 
possible.  You  must  remember  that  Pierre  was 
thinking  of  you.  He  can  care  for  himself.  It 
may  take  him  two  or  three  days  to  get  back  the 
strength  of — of  his  arm,"  he  finished,  blindly. 

"He  was  wounded  in  the  arm?" 

"And  on  the  head,"  said  Philip.  "It  was 
only  a  scalp  woimd,  however — nothing  at  all, 
except  that  it  dazed  him  a  little  at  the  time." 

Jeanne  pointed  to  the  reflection  of  the  fire  on 
the  river. 

"If  we  should  be  pursue^.''"  she  "mggested. 

"There  is  no  danger,"  assured  Philip,  though 
he  had  left  the  flap  of  his  revolver  holster  un- 
buttoned. "They  will  search  for  us  between 
their  camp  and  Churchill." 

"Citius  venit  periculum  cum  contemnituTy*  re-- 
monstrated  Jeanne,  half  smiling. 

She  was  pale,  but  Philip  saw  that  she  wa« 
making  a  tremendous  effort  to  appear  brave  and 
cheerful. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  laughed  Philip,  "but 
I  swear  that  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  I 
suppose  you  picked  that  lingo  up  among  the 
Indians." 

He  caught  the  faintest  gleam  of  Jeanne's  whitQ 
teeth  again  as  she  bent  her  head. 

"I  have  a  tutor  at  home,"  she  explained,  softly, 

152 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"You  shall  meet  him  when  we  reach  Fort  o' 
God.  He  is  the  most  wonderful  man  in  the 
world." 

Her  words  sent  a  strange  chill  through  Philip, 
They  were  filled  with  an  exquisite  tenderness,  a 
pride  that  sent  her  eyes  back  to  his,  glowing. 
The  questions  that  he  had  meant  to  ask  died 
and  faded  away.  He  thought  of  her  words  of 
a  few  minutes  before,  when  he  had  asked  about 
Fort  o'  God.  She  had  said,  *'My  father,  Pierre, 
and  I,  with  one  other ^  live  there  alone."  The 
other  was  the  tutor,  the  man  who  had  come  from 
civilization  to  teach  this  beautiful  girl  those 
things  which  had  amazed  him,  and  this  man  was 
the  most  wonderful  man  in  the  world.  He  had 
no  excuse  for  the  feelings  which  were  aroused  in 
him.  Only  he  knew,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  that 
a  part  of  his  old  burden  seemed  suddenly  to 
have  returned  to  his  shoulders,  and  the  old  lone- 
liness was  beating  at  the  door  of  his  heart.  He 
rearranged  the  pack  in  silence,  and  the  strength 
and  joy  of  Hfe  were  gone  from  his  arms  when  he 
helped  Jeanne  back  to  her  place  among  the  bear- 
skins. He  did  not  notice  that  her  eyes  were 
watching  him  curiously,  or  that  her  lips  trem^ 
bled  once  or  twice,  as  if  about  to  speak  words 
which  never  came.  Jeanne,  as  well  as  he,  seemed 
to  have  discovered  something  which  neither 
dared  to  reveal  in  that  last  five  minutes  on  the 
shore. 

"There  is  one  thing  that  I  must  know,"  said 

11  1£3 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Philip,  when  they  were  about  to  start,  "and  that 
is  where  to  find  Fort  o'  God?  Is  it  on  the 
Churchill?" 

"It  is  on  the  Little  Churchill,  M'sieur,  near 
Waskiaowaka  Lake." 

Darkness  concealed  the  effect  of  her  words 
upon  Philip.  For  a  moment  he  stared  like 
one  struck  dumb.  He  stifled  the  exclamation 
that  rose  to  his  lips.  He  felt  himself  trembling. 
He  knew  that  if  he  spoke  his  voice  would  betray 
him. 

Near  Waskiaowaka  Lake!  And  Waskiaowaka 
was  within  thirty  miles  of  his  own  camp  on  the 
Blind  Indian!  If  a  bomb  had  burst  under  his 
feet  he  could  not  have  been  more  amazed  than 
at  this  information,  given  to  him  in  Jeanne's 
quiet  voice.  Fort  o'  God — within  thirty  miles 
of  the  scene  where  very  soon  he  was  to  fight 
the  great  battle  of  his  life!  He  dug  his  paddle 
into  the  water  and  sent  the  canoe  hissing  up  the 
river.  His  blood  pounded  like  that  of  a  race- 
horse on  the  home-stretch.  (K  all  the  things 
that  had  happened,  of  all  he  had  learned,  this 
was  the  most  significant.  Every  thought  ran 
like  a  separate  powder-flash  to  a  single  idea,  to 
one  great,  overpowering  question.  Were  Fort 
o'  God  and  its  people  the  key  to  the  plot  against 
himself  and  his  company?  Was  it  the  ren- 
dezvous of  those  who  were  striving  to  work  his 
ruin?  Doubt,  suspicion,  almost  belief  came  to 
lum  ia  those  few  moments,  in  spite  of  himself. 

154 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

He  looked  at  Jeanne.     The  gray  dawn  was 
breakmg,  and   now   light  foUowed  swiftly  and 
dissolved  the  last  mist.     In  the  chill  of  early 
mornmg,  when  with  the  approach  of  the  sun  a 
cold,  uncomfortable  sweat  rises  heavily  from  the 
earth  and  water,  Jeanne  had  drawn  one  of  the 
bearskms  closely  about   her.     Her    head    was 
bare.     Her  hair,  glistenmg  with  damp,  clung  m 
heavy  masses  about  her  face.     There  was  a  be- 
witchmg  childishness  about  her,  a  pathetic  ap- 
peal to  him  in  the  forlorn  little  picture  she  made 
—so  helpless,  and  yet  so  confident  m  him.  Every 
energy  m  him  leaped  up  in  defiance  of  the  revo- 
lution  which  for  a  few  mom^ts  had  stu-red 
withm  him.     And  Jeanne,  as  though  she  had 
read  the  working  of  his  mind,  looked  straight  at 
him  and  smiled,  with  a  httle  purring  note  in  her 
throat  that  took  the  place  of  a  thousand  words. 
It  was  such  a  smile,  and  yet  not  one  of  love, 
which  puts  the  strength  of  ten  men  in  one  man's 
arms;  and  PhHip  laughed  back  at  her,  every 
chord  m  his  body  responding  in  joyous  vibra- 
tion to  the  delicate  note  that  had  come  with  it. 
No  matter  what  events  might  find  their  birth  at 
Fort  o'  God,  Jeanne  was  innocent  of  all  knowl- 
edge of  plot  or  wrong-doing.     Once  for  all  Philip 
convinced  himself  of  this. 

The  thought  that  came  to  him,  as  he  looked  at 
Jeanne,  found  voice  through  his  lips. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "if  I  never  saw  you 
again  I  would  alv.ays  have  three  pictures  of  you 


JAR 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

in  my  memory.  I  would  never  forget  how  you 
looked  when  I  first  saw  you  on  the  cliff — or  as 
I  see  you  now,  wrapped  in  your  bearldns. 
Only — I  would  think  of  you — a&  you  smiled." 

"And  the  third  picture?"  questioned  Jeanne, 
little  guessing  what  was  in  his  mind.  "Would 
that  be  at  the  fire,  when  I  burned  the  bad  man's 
neck — or — or  when — " 

She  stopped  herself,  and  pouted  her  mouth  in 
sudden  vexation,  while  a  flush  which  Philip 
could  easily  see  rose  in  her  cheeks. 

"When  I  doctored  your  foot?"  he  finished, 
rather  unchivalrously,  chuckling  in  his  delight 
at  her  pretty  discomfiture.  "No,  that  wouldn't 
be  the  third,  Miss  Jeanne.  The  other  scene 
which  I  shall  never  forget  was  that  on  the  stone 
pier  at  Churchill,  when  you  met  a  beautiful  girl 
who  was  coming  off  the  ship." 

The  blood  leaped  to  Jeanne's  face.  Her  soft 
lips  tightened.  A  sudden  movement,  and  the 
bearskin  sHpped  from  her  shoulders,  leaving 
her  leaning  a  little  forward,  her  eyes  blazing. 
A  dozen  words  had  transformed  her  from  the 
child  he  had  fancied  her  to  a  woman  quivering 
with  some  powerful  emotion,  her  beautiful  head 
proud  and  erect,  her  nostrils  dilating  with  the 
quickness  of  her  breath. 

"That  was  a  mistake,"  she  said.  There  was 
no  sign  of  passion  in  her  voice.  It  trembled  a 
little,  but  that  was  all.  "It  was  a  mistake, 
M'sieur  Philip.     I  thought  that  I  knew  her,  and 

'£6 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

— and  I  was  wrong.     You — ^you  must  not  le- 
member  that!" 

"I  am  no  better  than  a  wild  beast,"  groaned 
Philip,  hating  himself.  "I'm  the  biggest  idiot 
in  the  world  when  it  comes  to  saying  the  wrong 
thing.  I  never  miss  a  chance.  I  didn't  mean 
to  say  anything— that  would  hurt — " 

"You  haven't,"  interrupted  the  girl,  quickly, 
seeing  the  distress  in  his  fa«e.  "You  haven't 
said  a  thing  that's  wrong.  Only  I  don't  want 
you  to  remember  that  picture.  I  want  you  to 
think  of  me  as — ^as — ^I  burned  the  bad  man's 
neck." 

She  was  laughing  now,  though  her  breast  was 
rising  and  falling  a  httle  excitedly  and  the  deep 
color  was  still  in  her  cheeks. 

"Will  you?"  she  entreated. 

"Until  I  die,"  he  exclaimed. 

She  was  fumbling  under  the  luggage,  and 
dragged  forth  a  second  paddle. 

"I've  had  an  easy  time  with  you,  M'sieur 
PhiHp,"  she  said,  turning  so  that  she  was  kneel- 
ing with  her  back  to  him.  "Pierre  makes  me 
work.  Always  I  kneel  here,  in  the  bow,  and 
paddle.  I  am  ashamed  of  myself.  You  have 
worked  all  night." 

"And  I  feel  as  fresh  as  though  I  had  slept  for 
a  week,"  declared  Philip,  his  eyes  devouring  the 
slim  figure  a  paddle's  length  in  front  of  him. 

For  an  hour  they  continued  up  the  river,  with 
scarcely  a  word  between  them  to  break  the  si- 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

lence.  Their  paddles  rose  and  fell  with  a  rhyth- 
mic motion;  the  water  rippled  like  low  music 
under  their  canoe;  the  spell  of  the  silent  shores, 
of  voiceless  beauty,  of  the  wilderness  awakening 
into  day  appealed  to  them  both  and  held  them 
quiet.  The  sun  broke  faintly  through  the  drawn 
mists  behind.  Its  first  rays  hghted  up  Jeanne's 
rumpled  hair,  so  that  her  heavy  braid,  partly 
undone  and  falhng  upon  the  luggage  behind  her, 
shone  in  rich  and  changing  colors  that  fasci- 
nated Phihp.  He  had  thought  that  Jeanne's 
hair  was  very  dark,  but  he  saw  now  that  it  was 
filled  with  the  rare  life  of  a  Titian  head,  running 
from  red  to  gold  and  dark  brown,  with  changing 
shadows  and  flashes  of  hght.  It  was  beautiful. 
And  Jeanne,  as  he  looked  at  her,  he  thought  to 
be  the  most  beautiful  thing  on  earth.  The  move- 
ment of  her  arms,  the  graceful,  sinuous  twists  of 
her  slender  body  as  she  put  her  strength  upon 
the  jmddle,  the  poise  of  her  head,  the  piquant 
tilt  to  her  chin  whenever  she  turned  so  that  he 
caught  a  half  profile  of  her  flushed,  eager  face^ 
all  filled  his  cup  of  admiration  to  overflowing. 
And  he  found  himself  wondering,  suddenly,  how 
this  girl  could  be  a  sister  to  Pierre  Couchee.  He 
saw  in  her  no  sign  of  French  or  half-breed  blood. 
Her  hair  was  fine  and  soft,  and  waved  about  her 
ears  and  where  it  fell  loose  upon  the  back.  The 
color  in  her  cheeks  was  as  delicate  as  the  tints 
of  the  bakneesh  flower.  She  had  rolled  up  her 
broad  cuffs  to  give  her  greater  freedom  in  pad- 

158 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

dling,  and  b^  asi'Sia  uraone  wiiite  and  firm, 
glifiteding  with  the  wet  drip  of  the  paddle.  He 
vfvas  marveling  at  her  relationship  to  Pierre  when 
she  looked  back  at  him,  her  face  aglow  with  ex- 
ercise and  the  spice  of  the  morning,  and  he  saw 
the  sunlight  as  blue  as  the  sky  above  him  in  her 
syes,  K  he  had  not  known,  he  would  have 
sworn  that  there  was  not  a  drop  of  Pierre's  blood 
in  her  veins. 

"We  are  coming  to  the  first  rapids,  M'sieur 
Phihp,"  she  announced.  "It  is  just  beyond  that 
ugly  mountain  of  rock  ahead  of  us,  and  we  will 
have  a  quarter-mile  portage.  It  is  filled  with 
great  stones  and  so  swift  that  Pierre  and  I  nearly 
wrecked  ourselves  coming  down." 

It  was  the  most  that  had  been  said  since  the 
beginning  of  that  wonderful  hour  that  had  come 
before  the  first  gleam  of  simrise,  and  Philip,  lay- 
ing his  paddle  athwart  the  canoe,  stretched  him- 
self and  yawned,  as  though  he  had  just  awakened. 

"Poor  boy,"  said  Jeanne;  and  it  struck  him 
that  her  words  were  strangely  like  those  which 
Eileen  might  have  spoken  had  she  been  there, 
only  an  artless  comradeship  replaced  what  would 
have  been  Miss  Brokaw's  tone  of  intimacy.  She 
added,  with  genuine  sympathy  in  her  face  and 
voice:  "You  must  be  exhausted,  M'sieur  Philip, 
If  you  were  Pierre  I  should  insist  upon  going 
ashore  for  a  number  oi  hours.  Pierre  obeys  me 
vhen  we  are  together.  He  calls  me  his  captain. 
Won't  you  let  me  command  you?" 

169 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"If  you  will  let  me  call  you — my  captain,"  re- 
plied Philip.  "Only  there  is  one  thing — one 
reservation.  We  must  go  on.  Command  me 
in  everything  else,  but  we  must  go  on — ^for  a 
time.  To-night  I  will  sleep.  I  will  sleep  like 
the  dead.  So,  My  Captain,"  he  laughed, 
"may  I  have  your  permission  to  work  to- 
day?" 

Jeanne  was  turning  the  bow  shoreward.  Her 
back  was  turned  to  him  again. 

"You  have  no  pity  on  me,"  she  pouted. 
"Pierre  would  be  good  to  me,  and  we  would  fish 
all  day  in  that  pretty  pool  over  there.  I'll  bet 
it's  full  of  trout." 

Her  words,  her  manner  of  speaking  them,  was 
a  new  revelation  to  Philip.  She  was  delightful. 
He  laughed,  and  his  voice  rang  out  in  the  clear 
morning  like  a  school-boy's.  Jeanne  pretended 
that  she  saw  nothing  to  laugh  at,  and  no  sooner 
had  the  canoe  touched  shore  than  she  sprang 
lightly  out,  not  waiting  for  his  assistance.  With 
a  laughing  cry,  she  stumbled  and  fell.  Philip 
was  at  her  side  in  an  instant. 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  that,"  he  objected. 
"I  am  your  doctor,  and  I  insist  that  your  foot 
is  not  well." 

"But  it  is!"  cried  Jeanne,  and  he  saw  that 
there  was  laughter  instead  of  pain  in  her  eyes. 
"It's  the  bandage.  My  right  foot  feels  like 
that  of  a  Chinese  debutante.  Ugh!  I'm  going 
to  undo  it." 

160 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"You've  been  to  China,  too,"  mused  Philip, 
half  to  himself. 

"I  know  that  it's  filled  with  yellow  girls,  and 
that  they  squeeze  their  feet  like  this,"  said  Jeanne, 
unlacing  her  moccasin.  "My  tutor  and  I  have 
just  finished  a  delightful  trip  along  the  Great 
Wall.  We'd  go  to  Peking,  in  an  automobile,  if 
I  wasn't  afraid." 

Philip's  groan  was  audible.  He  went  to  the 
canoe,  and  Jeanne's  red  hps  curled  in  a  merri- 
ment which  it  was  hard  for  her  to^  suppress. 
Philip  did  not  see.  When  he  had  unloaded  the 
canoe  and  turned,  Jeanne  was  walking  slowly 
back  and  forth,  limping  a  Uttle. 

"It's  all  right,"  she  said,  answering  the  ques- 
tion on  his  Hps.  "I  don't  feel  any  pain  at  all, 
but  my  foot's  asleep.  Won't  you  please  un- 
strap the  small  pack?  I'm  going  to  make  my 
toilet  while  you  are  gone  with  the  canoe." 

Half  an  hour  later  Philip  unshouldered  the 
canoe  at  the  upper  end  of  the  rapids.  His  own 
toilet  articles  were  back  in  the  cabin  with  Greg- 
son,  but  he  took  a  wash  in  the  river  and  combed 
his  hair  with  his  fingers.  When  he  returned, 
there  was  a  transformation  in  Jeanne.  Her 
beautiful  hair  was  done  up  in  shining  coils.  She 
had  changed  her  bedraggled  skirt  for  another  of 
soft,  yellow  buckskin.  At  her  throat  she  wore 
a  fluffy  mass  of  crimson  stuff  which  seemed  to 
reflect  a  richer  rose-flush  in  her  cheeks.  A  curious 
thought  came  to  Philip  as  he  looked  at  her« 

ISi 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Like  a  flash  the  memory  of  a  certain  night  came 
to  him — when  it  had  taken  Miss  Brokaw  and  her 
maid  two  hours  to  make  a  toilet  for  a  ball. 
And  Jeanne,  in  the  heart  of  a  wilderness,  had 
made  herself  more  beautiful  than  Eileen.  He 
imagined,  as  she  stood  before  him,  a  little  em- 
barrassed by  the  admiration  in  his  eyes,  the 
sensation  Jeanne  would  create  in  a  ballroom  at 
home.  And  then  he  laughed — laughed  joyous- 
ly at  thoughts  which  he  could  not  reveal  to 
Jeanne,  and  which  she,  by  some  quick  intuition, 
knew  that  she  should  not  ask  him  to  express. 

Twice  again  Philip  made  the  portage,  accom- 
panied the  second  time  by  Jeanne,  who  insisted 
on  carrying  a  small  pack  and  two  paddles.  In 
spite  of  his  determination  and  i^lendid  physique, 
Philip  b^an  to  feel  the  effects  of  the  tr^nendous 
strain  which  he  had  been  under  for  so  long.  He 
counted  back  and  found  that  he  had  slept  but 
six  hours  in  the  last  forty-eight.  There  was  a 
warning  ache  in  his  shoulders  and  a  gnawing 
pain  in  the  bones  of  his  forearms.  But  he 
knew  that  he  had  not  yet  made  sufficient  head- 
way up  the  ChurchilL  It  would  not  be  difficult 
for  him  to  make  a  camp  far  enough  back  in  the 
bush  to  avoid  discovery;  but,  at  the  same  timcj 
if  he  and  Jeanne  were  piu*sued,  the  stop  would 
give  their  enemies  a  chance  to  get  ahead  of 
them.     This  danger  he  wished  to  escape. 

He  flattered  himself  that  Jeanne  saw  no  signs 
of    his    weakening.     He    did    not    know    that 

162 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

Jeanne  put  more  and  more  effort  into  her  paddle, 
until  her  arms  and  body  ached,  because  she  saw 
the  truth. 

The  Churchill  narrowed  and  its  current  be- 
came swifter  as  they  progressed.  Five  portages 
were  made  between  sunrise  and  eleven  o'clock. 
They  ate  dinner  at  the  fifth,  and  rested  for  two 
hours.  Then  the  journey  was  resumed.  It  was 
three  o'clock  when  Jeanne  dropped  her  paddle 
and  turned  to  Philip.  There  were  deep  lines  in 
his  face.  He  smiled,  but  there  was  more  of 
haggard  misery  than  cheer  in  the  smile.  There 
was  an  unnatural  flush  in  his  cheeks,  and  he  be- 
gan to  feel  a  burning  pain  where  the  blow  had 
fallen  upon  his  head  before.  For  a  full  half- 
minute  Jeanne  looked  at  him  without  speaking. 
"Philip,"  she  said — and  it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  spoken  his  name  in  this  way,  "I  insist 
upon  going  ashore  immediately.  If  you  do  not 
land — now — in  that  opening  ahead,  I  shall  jump 
out,  and  you  can  go  on  alone." 

"As  you  say — my  Captain  Jeanne,"  surren- 
dered Philip,  a  little  dizzily. 
^  Jeanne  guided  the  canoe  to  the  shore,  and  was 
the  first  to  spring  out,  while  Philip  steadied  the 
Kght  craft  with  his  paddle.  She  pointed  to  the 
higgage. 

"We  will  want  the  tent — everything,"  she  said, 
"because  we  are  going  to  camp  h^e  until  to- 
morrow." 
Once  on   shore,  Philip's   dizziness   left  him. 

163 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

He  pulled  the  canoe  high  up  on  the  bank,  and 
then  Jeanne  and  he  set  off,  side  by  side,  to  explore 
the  high,  wooded  ground  back  from  the  river. 
They  followed  a  well-worn  moose  trail,  and  two  or 
three  hundred  yards  from  the  stream  came  upon 
a  small  opening  cluttered  by  great  rocks  and 
surrounded  by  clumps  of  birch,  spruce,  and 
banskian  pine.  The  moose  trail  crossed  this 
rough  open  space;  and,  following  it  to  the  oppo- 
site side,  Philip  and  Jeanne  came  upon  a  clear, 
rippling  little  stream,  scarcely  two  yards  in 
width,  hidden  in  places  under  thick  caribou  moss 
and  jungles  of  seedling  pines.  It  was  an  ideal 
camping  spot,  and  Jeanne  gave  a  Uttle  cry  of 
delight  when  they  found  the  cold  water  of  the 
creek. 

Philip  then  returned  to  the  river,  concealed 
the  canoe,  covered  up  all  traces  of  their  landing, 
and  began  to  carry  the  camping  outfit  back  to 
the  open.  The  small  silk  tent  for  Jeanne's  use 
he  set  up  in  a  little  grassy  comer  of  the  clearing, 
and  built  their  fire  a  dozen  paces  from  it.  With 
a  sort  of  thrilling  pleasure  he  began  cutting  bal- 
sam boughs  for  Jeanne's  bed.  He  cut  armful 
after  armful,  and  it  was  growing  dusk  in  the  forest 
by  the  time  he  was  done.  In  the  glow  and  the 
heat  of  the  fire  Jeanne's  cheeks  were  as  pink  as 
an  apple.  She  had  turned  a  big  flat  rock  into 
a  table,  and  as  she  busied  herself  about  this  she 
burst  suddenly  into  a  soft  ripple  of  scMig;  then, 
remembering  that  it  was  not  Pierre  who  was  near 

164 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

her,  she  stopped.  Philip,  with  his  last  armCtil 
of  bedding,  was  directly  behind  her,  and  he 
laughed  happily  at  her  over  the  green  mass  of 
balsam  when  she  tmned  and  saw  bim  looking 
at  her. 

"You  like  this?'*  he  asked. 

"It  is  glorious!"  cried  Jeanne,  her  eyes  flash- 
ing. She  seemed  to  grow  taller  before  him,  and 
stood  with  her  head  thrown  back,  Hps  parted, 
gazing  upon  the  wilderness  about  her.  "It  is 
glorious !"  she  repeated,  breathing  deeply.  "  There 
is  nothing  in  the  whole  world  that  could  make 
me  give  this  up,  M'sieur  Philip.  I  was  bom 
in  it,     I  want  to  die  in  it.    Only — " 

Her  face  clouded  for  a  moment  as  her  eyes 
rested  up>on  his. 

"Your  civilization  is  coming  north  to  spoil  it 
all,"  she  added,  and  tinned  to  the  rock  table. 

Phihp  dropped  his  load. 

"Supper  is  ready,"  she  said,  and  the  cloud 
had  passed. 

It  was  Jeanne's  first  reference  to  his  own  peo- 
ple, to  the  invasion  of  civilization  into  the  north, 
and  there  recurred  to  Philip  the  words  in  which 
she  had  cried  out  her  hatred  against  Churchill. 
But  Jeanne  did  not  betray  herself  again.  She 
was  quiet  while  they  were  eating,  and  Phihp  saw 
that  she  was  very  tired.  When  they  had  fin- 
ished, they  sat  for  a  few  minutes  watching  the 
lowering  flames  of  the  fire.  Darkness  had  gath- 
&ed  about  them.     Their  faces  and  the  rock  were 

U6 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

illumined  more  and  more  faintly  as  the  embers 
died  down.  A  silence  fell  upon  them.  In  the 
banskians  close  behind  them  an  owl  hooted 
softly,  a  cautious,  drumming  note,  as  though  the 
night-bird  possessed  still  a  fear  of  tLv>  vir^rvtiy 
dead  day.  The  brush  gave  out  sound — voices 
infinitesimally  small,  strange  qmverings,  rustlings 
that  might  have  been  made  by  wind,  by  breath, 
by  siiadoTyy,  almost.  Overhead  the  tips  of  the 
spnivjfe  and  tall  pines  whispered  among  them- 
selves, as  they  never  commune  by  day.  Spirits 
seemed  to  move  among  them,  sending  down  to 
Jeanne's  and  Philip's  listening  ears  a  restful, 
sleepy  murmur.  Farther  back  there  sounded  a 
deep  sniff,  where  a  moose,  traveling  the  well- 
worn  trail,  stopped  in  sudden  fear  and  wonder 
at  the  strange  man-scent  which  came  to  its 
nostrils.  And  still  farther,  from  some  little 
lake  nameless  and  undiscovered  in  the  black 
depths  of  the  forest  to  the  south,  a  great  north- 
em  loon  sent  out  its  cowardly  cry  of  defiance 
to  all  night  things,  and  then  plunged  deep  under 
water,  as  though  frightened  into  the  depths  by 
its  own  mad  jargon.  The  fire  died  lower. 
Philip  moved  a  little  nearer  to  the  girl,  whose 
breathing  he  could  hear. 

"Jeanne,"  he  said,  softly,  fighting  to  keep 
himself  from  touching  her  hand,  "I  know  what 
you  mean — I  understand.  Two  years  ago  I  gave 
up  civilization  for  this.  I  am  glad  that  I 
wrote  to  you  as  I  did,  for  now  you  will  believe 

166 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

me  and  know  that  I  understand.  I  love  this 
world  up  here  as  you  love  it.  I  am  never  going 
back  again." 

Jeanne  was  silent. 
I     "But  there  is  one  thing,  at  least  one— which  I 
cannot  understand  in  you,'*  he  went  on,  nerving 
himself  for  what  might  come  a  moment  later. 
"You  are  of  this  world— you  hate  civilization— 
and  yet  you  have  brought  a  man  into  the  north 
to  teach  you  its  ways.     I  mean  this  man  who 
you  say  is  the  most  wonderful  man  in  the  world." 
He  waited,  trembling.     It  seemed  an  eternity 
before  Jeanne  answered.     And  then  she  said: 
"He  is  my  father,  M'sieur  Philip." 
Philip  could  not  speak.    Darkness  hid  him 
from  Jeanne.     She  did  not  see  that  which  leaped 
mto  his  face,  and  that  for  a  moment  he  was  on 
the  point  of  flingmg  himself  at  her  feet. 

"You  spoke  of  yourself,  of  Pierre,  of  your 
father,  and  of  one  other  at  Fort  o'  God,"  said 
Philip.  "I  thought  that  he— the  other— was 
your  tutor." 

**No,  it  is  Pierre's  sister,"  replied  Jeanne. 
"Your  sister!      You  have  a  sister?" 
He  could  hear  Jeanne  catch  her  breath. 
^^  "Listen,  M'sieur,"  she  said,  after  a  moment. 
"I  must  tell  you  a  little  about  Pierre,  a  story  of 
something  that  happened  a  long,  long  time  ago. 
It  was  in  the  middle  of  a  terrible  winter,  and 
Pierre  was  then  a  boy.     One  day  he  was  out 
hunting  and  he  came  upon  a  trail— the  trail  of 

167 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

a  woman  who  had  dragged  herself  through  the 
snow  in  her  moccasined  feet.  It  was  far  out  upon 
a  barren,  where  there  was  no  life,  and  he  fol- 
lowed. He  found  her,  M'sieur,  and  she  was 
dead.  She  had  died  from  cold  and  starvation. 
An  hour  sooner  he  might  have  saved  her,  for,' 
wrapped  up  close  against  her  breast,  he  found  a 
little  child — a  baby  girl,  and  she  was  alive.  He 
brought  her  to  Fort  o'  God,  M'sieur — ^to  a  noble 
man  who  lived  there  almost  alone;  and  there, 
through  all  these  years,  she  has  lived  and  grown 
up.  And  no  one  knows  who  her  mother  was, 
or  who  her  father  was,  and  so  it  happens  that 
Pierre,  who  found  her,  is  her  brother,  and  the 
man  who  has  loved  her  and  cared  for  her  is  her 
father." 

"And  she  is  the  other  at  Fort  o'  God — ^Pierre's 
sister,"  said  Philip. 

Jeanne  rose  from  the  rock  and  moved  toward 
the  tent,  glimmering  indistinctly  in  the  night. 
Her  voice  came  back  chokingly. 

"No,  M'sieur.  Pierre's  real  sister  is  at  Fort 
o'  God.  I  am  the  one  whom  he  found  out  on 
the  barren." 

To  the  night  sounds  there  was  added  a  heart- 
broken sob,  and  Jeanne  disappeared  in  the  tent. 


XIV 

PHILIP  sat  where  Jeanne  had  left  hnn.  He 
was  powerless  to  move  or  to  say  a  word 
that  might  have  recalled  her.  Her  own  grief, 
quivering  in  that  one  piteous  sob,  overwhelmed 
him.  It  held  him  mute  and  listening,  with  the 
hope  that  each  instant  the  tent-flap  might  open 
and  Jeanne  reappear.  And  yet  if  she  came  he 
had  no  words  to  say.  Unwittingly  he  had  probed 
deep  into  one  of  those  wounds  that  never  heal, 
and  he  realized  that  to  ask  forgiveness  would  be 
but  another  blunder.  He  almost  groaned  as  he 
thought  of  what  he  had  done.  In  his  desire  to 
understand,  to  know  more  about  Jeanne,  he  had 
driven  her  into  a  comer.  What  he  had  forced 
from  her  he  might  have  learned  a  little  later 
from  Pierre  or  from  the  father  at  Fort  o'  God. 
He  thought  that  Jeanne  must  despise  him  now, 
for  he  had  taken  advantage  of  her  helplessness 
and  his  own  position.  He  had  saved  her  from  her 
enemies;  and  in  return  she  had  opened  her  heart, 
naked  and  bleeding,  to  his  eyes.  What  she  had 
told  him  was  not  a  voluntary  confidence;  it 
was  a  confession  wrung  from  her  by  the  rack  of 
his  questionings — the  confession  that  she  was 

12  169 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

a  waif-child,  that  Pierre  was  not  her  brother, 
and  that  the  man  at  Fort  o'  God  was  not  her 
father.  He  had  gone  to  the  very  depths  of  that 
which  was  sacred  to  herself  and  those  whom  she 
loved. 

He  rose  and  stirred  the  fire,  and  stray  ends  of 
birch  leaped  into  flame,  lighting  his  pale  face. 
He  wanted  to  go  to  the  tent,  kneel  there  where 
Jeanne  could  hear  him,  and  tell  her  that  it  waa 
all  a  mistake.  Yet  he  knew  that  this  could  not 
be,  neither  the  next  day  nor  the  next,  for  to 
plead  extenuation  for  himself  would  be  to  reveal 
his  love.  Two  or  three  times  he  had  been  on 
the  point  of  revealing  that  love.  Only  now, 
after  what  had  happened,  did  it  occur  to  him 
that  to  disclose  his  heart  to  Jeanne  would  be 
the  greatest  crime  he  could  commit.  She  was 
alone  with  him  in  the  heart  of  a  wilderness,  de- 
pendent up>on  him,  upon  his  honor.  He  shivered 
when  he  thought  how  narrow  had  been  his  escape, 
how  short  a  time  he  had  known  her,  and  how  in 
that  brief  spell  he  had  giveci  himself  up  to  an 
almost  insane  hope.  To  him  Jeanne  was  not 
a  stranger.  She  was  the  embodiment,  in  flesh 
and  blood,  of  the  spirit  which  had  been  his  com- 
panion for  so  long.  He  loved  her  more  than 
ever  now,  for  Jeanne  the  lost  child  of  the  snows 
was  more  the  earthly  revelation  of  his  beloved 
spirit  than  Jeanne  the  sister  of  Pierre.  But — 
what  was  he  to  Jeanne.'' 

He  left  the  fire  and  went  to  the  pfle  of  balsam 

I7« 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

which  he  had  spread  out  between  two  rocks  for 
his  bed.  He  lay  down  and  pulled  Pierre's  blank- 
et over  him,  but  his  fatigue  and  his  desire  for 
sleep  seemed  to  have  left  him,  and  it  was  a  long 
time  before  slumber  finally  drove  from  him  the 
thought  of  what  he  had  done.  After  that  he 
did  not  move.  He  heard  none  of  the  sounds  of 
the  night.  A  little  owl,  the  devil-witch,  screamed 
horribly  overhead  and  awakened  Jeanne,  who 
sat  up  for  a  few  moments  in  her  balsam  bed, 
white-faced  and  shivering.  But  Philip  siept. 
Long  afterward  something  warm  awakened  him, 
and  he  opened  his  eyes,  thinking  that  it  was  the 
glow  of  the  fire  in  his  face.  It  was  the  sun.  He 
heard  a  sound  which  brought  him  quickly  into 
consciousness  of  day.  It  was  Jeanne  singing 
softly  over  beyond  the  rocks. 

He  had  dreaded  the  coming  of  morning,  when 
he  would  have  to  face  Jeanne.  His  guilt  hung 
heavily  upon  him.  But  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
low  and  sweet,  filled  with  the  carroling  happi- 
ness of  a  bird,  brought  a  glad  smile  to  his  lips. 
After  all,  Jeanne  had  understood  him.  She  had 
forgiven  him,  if  she  had  not  forgotten. 

For  the  first  time  he  noticed  the  height  of  the 
sun,  and  he  sat  bolt  upright.  Jeanne  saw  hia 
head  and  shoulders  pop  over  the  top  of  the  rocks, 
and  she  laughed  at  him  from  their  stone  table. 

"I've  been  keeping  breakfast  for  over  an  hour, 
M'sieur  Philip,"  she  cried.  "Hurry  down  to  the 
creek  and  wash  yourself,  or  I  shall  eat  all  alone  I** 

171 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Philip  rose  stupidly  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Eight  o'clock  I"  he  gasped.  "We  should 
have  been  ten  miles  on  the  way  by  this  time!" 

Jeanne  was  still  laughing  at  him.  Like  sun- 
light she  dispelled  his  gloom  of  the  night  beforeo 
A  glance  around  the  camp  showed  him  that  she 
must  have  been  awake  for  at  least  two  hours. 
The  packs  were  filled  and  strapped.  The  silken 
tent  was  down  and  folded.  She  had  gathered 
wood,  built  the  fire,  and  cooked  breakfast  while 
he  slept-  And  now  she  stood  a  dozen  paces 
from  him,  blushing  a  little  at  his  amazed  stare, 
waiting  for  him. 

"It's  deuced  good  of  you.  Miss  Jeanne!"  he 
exclaimed.  "  I  don't  deserve  such  kindness  from 
you." 

"Oh!"  said  Jeanne,  and  that  was  all.  She 
bent  over  the  fire,  and  Philip  went  to  the  creek. 

He  was  determined  now  to  maintain  a  more 
certain  hold  upon  himself.  As  he  doused  his 
face  in  the  cold  watei-  his  resolutions  formed 
themselves.  For  the  next  few  days  he  would 
forget  everything  but  the  one  fact  that  Jeanne 
was  in  his  care;  he  would  not  hurt  her  again 
or  compel  her  confidence. 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock  before  they  were  upon 
the  river.  They  paddled  without  a  rest  until 
twelve.  After  lunch  Phihp  confiscated  Jeanne's 
paddle  and  made  her  sit  facing  him  in  the  canoe. 

The  afternoon  passed  like  a  dream  to  Philip. 
;He  did  not  refer  again  to  Fort  o'  God  or  the  peo- 

178 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

pie  there;  he  did  not  speak  again  of  Eileen 
Brokaw,  of  Lord  Fitzhugh,  or  of  Pierre.  He 
talked  of  himself  and  of  those  things  which  had 
once  been  his  life.  He  told  of  his  mother  and 
his  father,  who  had  died,  and  of  the  little  sister, 
wham  he  had  worshiped,  but  who  had  gone 
with  the  others.  He  bared  his  loneliness  to  her 
as  he  would  have  told  them  to  the  sister,  had  she 
lived;  and  Jeanne's  soft  blue  eyes  were  filled 
with  tenderness  and  sympathy.  And  then  he 
talked  of  Gr^son's  world.  Within  himself  he 
called  it  no  longer  his  own. 

It  was  Jeanne  who  questioned  now.  She 
asked  about  cities  and  great  people,  about  books 
and  women.  Her  knowledge  amazed  Philip. 
She  might  have  visited  the  Louvre.  One  would 
have  guessed  that  she  had  walked  in  the  streets 
of  Paris,  Berlin,  and  London.  She  spoke  of  John- 
son, of  Dickens,  and  of  Balzac  as  though  they 
had  died  but  yesterday.  She  was  like  one  who 
had  been  everywhere  and  yet  saw  everything 
through  a  veil  that  bewildered  her.  Li  her 
simplicity  she  unfolded  herself  to  Philip,  leaf  by 
leaf,  petal  by  petal,  like  the  morning  apios  that 
surrenders  its  mysteries  to  the  sun.  She  knew 
the  world  which  he  had  come  from,  its  people, 
its  cities,  its  greatness;  and  yet  her  knowledge 
was  like  that  of  the  blind.  She  knew,  but  she 
had  never  seen;  and  in  her  wistfulness  to  see 
as  he  could  see  there  was  a  sweetness  and  a 
pathos  which  made  every  fiber  in  his  body  sing 

J78 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

with  a  quiet  and  thrilling  joy.  He  knew,  now, 
that  the  man  who  was  at  Fort  o'  God  must,  in- 
deed, be  the  most  wonderful  man  in  the  world. 
For  out  of  a  child  of  the  snows,  of  the  forest,  of 
a  savage  desolation,  he  had  made  Jeanne.  And 
Jeanne  was  glorious! 

The  afternoon  passed,  and  they  made  thir^ 
miles  before  they  camped  for  the  night.  They 
traveled  the  next  day,  and  the  one  that  followed. 
On  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  they  were  ap- 
proaching Big  Thunder  Rapids,  close  to  the  in- 
flux of  the  Little  Churchill,  sixty  miles  from 
Fort  o'  God. 

These  days,  too,  passed  for  Philip  with  joyous 
swiftness;  swiftly  because  they  were  too  short 
for  him.  Hiis  life,  now,  was  Jeanne.  E€ich  day 
she  became  a  more  vital  part  of  him.  She  crept 
into  his  soul  Lmtil  there  was  no  longer  left  room 
for  any  other  thought  than  of  her.  And  yet  his 
happiness  was  tamj>ered  by  a  thing  which,  if 
not  grief,  depressed  and  saddened  him  at  times. 
Two  days  more  and  they  would  be  at  Fort  o' 
God,  and  there  Jeanne  would  be  no  longer  his 
own,  as  she  was  now.  Even  the  wilderness  has 
its  conventionahty,  and  at  Fort  o'  God  their 
comradeship  would  end.  A  day  of  rest,  two  at 
the  most,  and  he  would  leave  for  the  camp  on 
Blind  Lidian  Lake.  As  the  time  drew  nearer 
when  they  would  be  but  friends  and  no  longer 
comrades,  Philip  could  not  always  hide  the 
signs  of  gloom  which  weighed  upon  him.     He 

174 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

revealed  nothing  in  words;  but  now  and  then 
Jeanne  had  caught  him  when  the  fears  at  his 
heart  betrayed  themselves  in  his  face.  Jeanne 
became  happier  as  their  journey  approached  its 
end.  She  was  alive  every  moment,  joyous,  ex- 
pectant, looking  ahead  to  Fort  o'  God;  and  this 
in  itseK  was  a  bitterness  to  Philip,  though  he 
knew  that  he  was  a  fool  for  allowing  it  to  be  so. 
He  reasoned,  with  dull,  masculine  wit,  that  if 
Jeanne  cared  for  him  at  all  she  would  not  be  so 
anxious  for  their  comradeship  to  end.  But 
these  moods,  when  they  came,  passed  quickly. 
And  on  this  afternoon  c^  the  fourth  day  they 
passed  away  entirely,  for  in  an  instant  there 
came  a  solution  to  it  all.  They  had  known  each 
other  but  four  days,  yet  that  brief  time  had 
encompassed  what  might  not  have  been  in  as 
many  years.  Life,  smooth,  uneventful,  de- 
velops friendship  slowly;  an  hour  of  the  unusual 
may  lay  bare  a  soul.  Philip  thought  of  Eileen 
Brokaw,  whose  heart  was  still  a  closed  mystery 
to  him;  who  was  a  stranger,  in  spite  of  the  years 
he  had  known  her.  In  four  days  he  had  known 
Jeanne  a  lifetime;  in  those  four  days  Jeanne  had 
learned  more  of  him  than  Eileen  Brokaw  could 
ever  know.  So  he  arrived  at  the  resolution 
which  made  him,  too,  look  eagerly  ahead  to  the 
end  of  the  journey.  At  Fort  o'  God  he  would 
tell  Jeanne  of  his  love. 

Jeanne  was  looking  at  him  when  the  deter- 
mination  came.     She   saw  the  gloom   pass,   a 

175 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

flusli  mount  into  his  face;  and  when  he  sa\i  bi^ 
eyes  upon  him  he  laughed,  without  knowing  why. 

"If  it  is  so  funny,"  she  said,  "please  tell  me." 

It  was  a  temptation,  but  he  resisted  it. 

"It  is  a  secret,"  he  said,  "which  I  shall  keep 
until  we  reach  Fort  o'  God." 

Jeanne  turned  her  face  up-stream  to  listen. 
A  dozen  times  she  had  done  this  during  the  last 
half-hour,  and  Philip  had  listened  with  her.  At 
first  they  had  heard  a  distant  murmur,  rising  as 
they  advanced,  like  an  autumn  wind  that  grows 
stronger  each  moment  in  the  tree-tops.  The 
murmur  was  steady  now,  without  the  variations 
of  a  wind.  It  was  the  distant  roaring  of  the 
rocks  and  rushing  floods  of  Big  Thunder  Rapids. 
It  grew  steadily  from  a  murmur  to  a  moan, 
from  a  moan  to  rumbling  thunder.  The  cur- 
rent became  so  swift  that  Phihp  was  compelled 
to  use  all  his  strength  to  force  the  canoe  ahead. 
A  few  moments  later  he  turned  into  shore. 

From  where  they  landed,  a  worn  trail  led  up 
to  one  of  the  precipitous  walls  of  rock  and  shut 
in  the  Big  Thimder  Rapids.  Everything  about 
them  was  rock.  The  trail  was  over  rock,  worn 
smooth  by  the  countless  feet  of  centuries — clawed 
feet,  naked  feet,  moccasined  feet,  the  feet  of 
white  men.  It  was  the  Great  Portage,  for  am« 
mal  as  well  as  man.  Philip  went  up  with  the 
pack,  and  Jeanne  followed  behind  him.  The 
thunder  increased.  It  roared  in  their  ears  until 
they   could  no  longer  hear  their  own  voices. 

176 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Directly  above  the  rapids  the  trail  was  narrow, 
scarcely  eight  feet  in  width,  shut  in  on  the  land 
side  by  a  mountain  wall,  on  the  other  by  the 
precipice.  Philip  looked  behind,  and  saw  Jeanne 
hugging  close  to  the  wall.  Her  face  was  white, 
her  eyes  shone  with  terror  and  awe.  He  spoke 
to  her,  but  she  saw  only  the  movement  of  his 
lips.  Then  he  put  down  his  pack  and  went 
close  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 

Sixty  feet  below  him  was  the  Big  Thunder,  a 
chaos  of  lashing  foam,  of  slippery,  black-capped 
rocks  bobbing  and  grimacing  am.id  the  rushing 
torrents  like  monsters  playing  at  hide-andnseds. 
Now  one  rose  high,  as  though  thrust  up  out  of 
chaos  by  giant  hands;  then  it  sank  back,  and 
milk-white  foam  swirled  softly  over  the  place 
where  it  had  beeai.  There  seemed  to  be  life  in 
the  chaos — a  grim,  terrible  life  whose  voice  was 
a  thunder  that  never  died.  Few  a  few  moments 
Philip  stood  fascinated  by  the  scene  below  him. 
Then  he  felt  a  touch  upon  Ms  arm.  It  was  Jeanne. 
Hhe  stood  beside  him  quivering,  dead -white, 
Almost  daring  to  take  the  jBnal  step.  Philip 
caught  her  hands  firmly  in  his  own,  and  Jeanne 
looked  over.  Then  she  darted  back  and  hovered, 
shuddering,  near  the  wall. 

The  portage  was  a  short  one,  scarce  two  hun- 
dred yards  in  length,  and  at  the  upper  end  was 
a  small  green  meadow  in  which  river  voyagers 
camped.  It  still  lacked  two  hours  of  dusk  when 
Philip  carried  over  the  last  of  the  luggage. 

177 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"We  will  not  camp  here,"  he  said  to  Jeanne, 
pointing  to  the  remains  of  numerous  fires  and 
remembering  Pierre's  exhortation.  "It  is  too 
public,  as  you  might  say.  Besides,  that  noise 
makes  me  deaf." 

Jeanne  shuddered. 

"Let  tts  hurry,"  she  said.  "I*m — Tm  afraid 
of  thatr 

Philip  carried  the  canoe  down  to  the  river,  and 
Jeanne  followed  with  the  bearskins.  The  cur- 
rent was  soft  and  sluggish,  with  tiny  maelstroms 
gurgling  up  here  and  there,  like  air-bubbles  in 
boiling  syrup.  He  only  half  launched  the  canoe, 
and  Jeanne  remained  while  he  went  for  another 
load.  The  dip,  kept  green  by  the  water  of  a 
spring,  was  a  pistol-shot  from  the  river.  Philip 
looked  back  from  the  crest  and  saw  Jeanne  lean- 
ing ov^  the  canoe.  Then  he  descended  into 
the  meadow,  whistling.  He  had  reached  the  packs 
when  to  his  ears  there  seemed  to  come  a  sound 
that  rose  faintly  above  the  roar  of  the  water  in 
the  chasm.    He  straightened  himself  and  listened. 

"Philip!     Philip!" 

The  cry  came  twice — ^his  own  name,  piercing, 
agonizing,  rising  above  the  thunder  of  the  floods. 
He  heard  no  more,  but  raced  up  the  slope  of  the 
dip.  From  the  crest  he  stared  down  to  where 
Jeanne  had  been.  She  was  gone.  Hie  canoe 
was  gone.  A  terrible  fear  swept  upon  him,  and  for 
an  instant  he  turned  faint.  Jeanne's  cry  came 
to  him  again. 

178 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"Philip!  Phnip!" 

Like  a  madman  he  dashed  up  the  rocky  trail 
to  the  chasm,  calling  to  Jeanne,  shrieking  to  her, 
telling  her  that  he  was  coming.  He  reached  the 
edge  of  the  precipice  and  looked  down.  Below 
him  was  the  canoe  and  Jeanne.  She  was  fight- 
ing futilely  against  the  resistless  flood;  he  saw 
her  paddle  wrenched  suddenly  from  her  hands, 
and  as  it  went  swirling  beyond  her  reach  she 
eried  out  his  name  again.  Philip  shouted,  and 
the  girl's  white  face  was  turned  up  to  him. 
Fifty  yards  ahead  oi  her  were  the  first  of  the 
rocks.  In  another  minute,  even  less,  Jeanne 
would  be  dashed  to  pieces  before  his  eyes. 
Thoughts,  swifter  than  light,  flashed  through  his 
Blind.  He  could  do  nothing  for  her,  for  it  seemed 
impossible  that  any  living  creature  could  exist 
amid  the  maelstroms  and  rocks  ahead.  And 
yet  she  was  calling  to  him.  She  was  reaching 
up  her  arms  to  him.  She  had  faith  in  him,  even 
in  the  face  of  death. 

"Philip!    Philip!'' 

There  was  no  m'sieiMr  to  that  cry  now,  only  a 
moaning,  sobbing  prayer  filled  with  his  name. 

"I'm  coming,  Jeanne!"  he  shouted.  "I'm 
coming!    Hold  fast  to  the  canoe!'* 

He  ran  ahead,  stripping  off  his  coat-  A  little 
below  the  first  rocks  a  stunted  banskian  grew 
out  of  an  earthy  fissure  in  the  cliff,  with  its 
lower  branches  dipping  within  a  doeen  feet  of 
the  stream.     He  climbed  out  on  this  with  tha 

179 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

quickness  of  a  squirrel,  and  hung  to  a  limb  with 
both  hands,  ready  to  drop  alongside  the  canoe. 
There  was  one  chance,  and  only  one,  of  saving 
Jeanne.  It  was  a  chance  out  of  a  thousand- 
ten  thousand.  If  he  could  drop  at  the  right 
moment,  seize  the  stern  of  the  canoe,  and  make 
a  rudder  of  himself,  he  could  keep  the  craft 
from  tummg  broadside  and  might  possibly  guide 
it  between  the  rocks  below.  This  one  hope  was 
destroyed  as  quickly  as  it  was  bom.  The  canoe 
crashed  against  the  first  rock.  A  smother  of 
foam  rose  about  it  and  he  saw  Jeanne  suddenly 
engulfed  and  lost.  Then  she  reappeared,  al- 
most under  him,  and  he  launched  himself  down- 
ward, clutching  at  her  dress  with  his  hands. 
By  a  supreme  effort  he  caught  her  around  the 
waist  with  his  left  arm,  so  that  his  right  was 

Ahead  of  them  was  a  boiling  sea  of  white, 
even  more  terrible  than  when  they  had  looked 
down  upon  it  from  above.  The  rocks  were  hid- 
den by  mist  and  foam;  then-  roar  was  deafening. 
Between  Philip  and  the  awful  maelstrom  d 
death  there  was  a  quieter  space  of  water,  black, 
sullen,  and  swift— the  power  itself,  rushing  on 
to  whip  itself  into  ribbons  among  the  tauntmg 
rocks  that  barred  its  way  to  the  sea.  In  that 
space  PhiHp  looked  at  Jeanne.  Her  face  was 
against  his  breast.  Her  eyes  met  his  own,  and 
in  that  last  moment,  face  to  face  with  death, 
k)ve  leaped  above  all  fear.    They  were  about  to 

180 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

die,  and  Jeanne  would  die  in  his  arms.  She  \r% 
his  now — forever.  His  hold  tightened.  Hei= 
face  came  nearer.  He  wanted  to  shout,  to  let 
her  know  what  he  had  meant  to  say  at  Fort  o* 
God.  But  his  voice  would  have  been  like  a 
whisper  in  a  hurricane.  Could  Jeanne  under- 
stand? The  waU  of  foam  was  almost  in  their 
faces.  Suddenly  he  bent  down,  crushed  his 
face  to  hers,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 
Then,  as  the  maelstrom  engulfed  them,  he 
swung  his  own  body  to  take  the  brunt  of  the 
shock. 

He  no  longer  reasoned  beyond  one  thing.  He 
must  keep  his  body  between  Jeanne  and  the 
rocks.  He  would  be  crushed,  beaten  to  pieces, 
made  unrecognizable,  but  Jeanne  would  be  only 
drowned.  He  fought  to  keep  himself  half  under 
her,  with  his  head  and  shoulders  in  advance. 
When  he  felt  the  floods  sucking  him  under,  he 
thrust  her  upward.  He  fought,  and  did  not 
know  what  happ>ened.  Only  there  was  the 
crashing  of  a  thousand  cannon  in  his  ears,  and 
he  seemed  to  live  through  an  eternity.  They 
thundered  about  him,  against  him,  ahead  of 
him,  and  then  more  and  more  behind.  He 
felt  no  pain,  no  shock.  It  was  the  sound  that 
he  seemed  to  be  fighting;  in  the  buffeting  of  his 
body  against  the  rocks  there  was  the  painless- 
ness of  a  knife-thrust  delivered  amid  the  roar 
of  battle.  And  the  sound  receded.  It  was 
thundering  in   retreat,   and  a  curious  thought 

181 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

came  to  him.  Providence  had  delivered  him 
through  the  maelstrom.  He  had  not  struck  the 
rocks.  He  was  saved.  And  in  his  arms  he  held 
Jeanne. 

It  was  day  when  he  bc^an  the  fight,  broad 
day.  And  now  it  was  night.  He  felt  earth, 
under  his  feet,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  brought 
Jeanne  ashore.  He  heard  her  voice  speaking 
his  name;  and  he  was  so  glad  that  he  laughed  and 
sobbed  lU^e  a  babbling  idiot.  It  was  dark,  and 
he  was  tired.  He  sank  down,  and  he  could  feel 
Jeanne*s  arms  striving  to  hold  him  up,  and  he 
could  still  hear  her  voice.  But  nothing  could 
keep  him  from  sleeping.  And  during  that  skep 
he  had  visions.  Now  it  was  day,  and  he  saw 
Jeanne's  face  over  him;  again  it  was  ni^t,  and 
he  heard  only  the  roaring  of  the  flood.  Again  he 
heard  voices,  Jeanne's  voice  and  a  man's,  and  he 
wondered  who  the  man  could  be.  It  was  a 
strange  sleep  filled  with  strange  dreams.  But 
at  last  the  dreams  seemed  to  go.  He  lost  him- 
self. He  awoke,  and  the  night  had  tmiied  into 
day.  He  was  in  a  tent,  and  the  sun  was  gleam- 
ing on  the  outside.  It  had  been  a  curious  dream, 
and  he  sat  up  astonished. 

There  was  a  man  sitting  beside  him.     It  was 
Pierre. 

"Thank  God,  M'sieur!"  he  heard.    "We  have 
been  waiting  for  this.     You  are  saved!" 

"Pierre!"  he  gasped. 

Memory  returned  to  him.     He  was  awake. 

1S2 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

He  felt  weak,  but  lie  knew  that  what  he  saw  was 
not  the  vision  of  a  dream. 

"I  came  the  day  after  you  went  through  the 
rapids,"  explained  Pierre,  seeing  his  amazement. 
"You  saved  Jeanne.  She  was  not  hurt.  But 
you  were  badly  bruised,  M'sieur,  and  you  have 
been  in  a  fever.** 

"Jeanne — was  not — ^hurt?'* 

"No.  She  cared  for  you  until  I  came.  She 
is  sleeping  now." 

"I  have  not  been  this  way — very  long,  have  I, 
Pierre?'* 

"I  came  yesterday,**  said  Pierre.  He  bent 
over  Philip,  and  added:  "You  must  remain 
quiet  for  a  little  longer,  M'sieur.  I  have  brought 
you  a  letter  from  M*sieur  Gregson,  and  when  you 
read  that  I  will  have  some  broth  made  for  you." 
'Philip  took  the  letter  and  opened  it  as  Pierre 
went  quietly  out  of  the  tent.  Gregson  had 
written  him  but  a  few  lines.    He  wrote: 

Mt  dear  Pnn., — ^I  hope  youll  forgive  me.  But 
I'm  tired  of  this  mess.  I  was  never  cut  out  for  the 
woods,  and  so  I'm  going  to  dismiss  myself,  leaving 
all  best  wishes  behind  for  you.  Go  in  and  fight. 
I  You're  a  devil  for  fighting,  and  will  surely  win.  I'M 
only  be  in  the  way.  So  I'm  going  back  with  the  ship, 
which  leaves  in  three  or  four  days.  Was  going  to 
tell  you  this  on  the  night  you  disappeared.  Ara  sorry 
I  couldn't  shake  hands  with  you  before  I  left.  Write 
and  let  me  know  how  things  come  out.    As  ever, 

Tom. 

-183 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

jStunned,  Philip  dropped  the  letter.  He  lifted 
His  eyes,  and  a  strange  cry  burst  from  his  Ups. 
Nothing  that  Gregson  had  written  could  have 
wrung  that  cry  from  him.  It  was  Jeanne.  She 
stood  in  the  open  door  of  the  tent.  But  it  was 
not  the  Jeanne  he  had  known.  A  terrible  grief 
was  written  in  her  face.  Her  hps  were  bloodless, 
her  eyes  lusterless;  deep  suffering  seemed  to  have 
put  hollows  in  her  cheeks.  In  a  moment  she 
had  fallen  upon  her  knees  beside  him  and 
clasped  one  of  his  hands  in  both  of  her  own. 

"I  am  so  glad,"  she  whispered,  chokingly. 

For  an  instant  she  pressed  his  hands  to  her 
face. 

"I  am  so  glad—" 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  swaying  slightly.  She 
turned  to  the  door,  and  Philip  could  hear  h«r 
sobbing  as  she  left  him. 


XV 


NOT  until  the  silken  flap  of  the  tent  had  f all^ 
behind  Jeanne  did  power  of  movement  and 
speech  return  to  Philip.  He  called  her  name 
and  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture.  Then  he 
staggered  to  his  feet.  He  could  scarcely  stand. 
Shooting  pains  passed  like  flashes  of  electricity 
through  his  body.  His  right  arm  was  numb  and 
stiff,  and  he  foimd  that  it  was  thickly  bandaged. 
His  head  ached,  his  legs  could  hardly  support 
him.  He  went  to  raise  his  left  hand  to  his  head, 
but  stopped  it  in  front  of  him,  while  a  slow  smile 
of  understanding  crept  over  his  face.  It  was 
swollen  and  covered  with  livid  bruises.  He  won- 
dered if  his  body  looked  that  way,  and  sank 
down  exhausted  upon  his  balsam  bed.  A  min- 
ute later  Pierre  returned  with  a  cup  of  broth  in 
his  hand. 

Philip  looked  at  him  with  less  feverish  eyes 
now.  There  was  an  unaccountable  change  in 
the  half-breed's  appearance,  as  there  had  been  in 
Jeanne's.  His  face  seemed  thinner.  There  was 
a  deep  gloom  in  his  eyes,  a  dejected  droop  to  hia 
shoulders.  Philip  accepted  the  broth,  and  drank 
it  slowly,   without   speaking.     He   felt   streng> 

13  186 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

thened.  Then  he  looked  steadily  at  Pierre.  The 
old  pride  had  fallen  from  Pierre  like  a  mask. 
His  eyes  dropped  under  Philip's  gaze. 

Philip  held  up  a  hand. 

"Pierre!" 

The  half-breed  grasped  it  and  waited.  His 
Kps  tightened. 

''What  is  the  matter?**  demanded  Philip. 
"What  has  happened  to  Jeanne?  You  say  she 
was  not  hurt — " 

"By  the  rocks,  M'sieur,"  interrupted  Pierre, 
quickly,  kneehng  beside  Philip.  "Listen.  It  is 
best  that  I  tell  you.  You  are  a  man,  you  will 
understand,  without  being  told  all.  From 
Churchill  I  brought  news  which  it  was  necessary 
for  me  to  tell  Jeanne.  It  was  terrible  news,  and 
she  is  distressed  under  its  weight.  Your  honor 
will  not  allow  you  to  inquire  further,  M'sieur.  I 
can  tell  you  no  more  than  this — that  it  is  a  grief 
which  belongs  to  but  one  person  on  earth — her- 
self. I  ask  you  to  help  me.  Be  blind  to  her 
unhappiness,  M'sieur.  Believe  that  it  is  the  dis- 
tress of  the  peril  through  which  she  has  passed. 
A  little  later  I  will  tell  you  all,  and  you  will 
understand.  But  it  is  impossible  now.  I  con- 
fide this  much  in  you — I  ask  you  this — be- 
cause— " 

Pierre's  eyes  were  half  closed,  and  he  looked  as 
though  unseeing  over  Philip's  head. 

"I  ask  you  this,"  he  repeated,  softly,  "because 
I  have  guessed — that  you  love  her." 

186 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

A  cry  of  joy  burst  from  Philip's  lips. 

"1  do,  Pierre— I  do— I  do—" 

'*I  have  guessed  it,'*  said  Pierre.  "You  will 
help  me — to  save  her!" 

"Until  death!" 

"Then  you  will  go  with  us  to  Fort  o'  God,  and^ 
from  there  you  will  go  at  once  to  your  camp  on 
Blind  Indian  Lake." 

PhiHp  felt  the  sweat  breaking  out  over  his  face. 
He  was  still  weak.  His  voice  was  imnatural, 
and  trembled. 

"You  know — "  he  gasped. 

"Yes,  I  know,  M'sieur,"  replied  Pierre.  **I 
know  that  you  are  in  charge  there,  and  Jeanne 
knows.  We  knew  who  you  were  before  we  ap- 
pointed to  meet  you  on  the  cliff  You  must  re- 
turn to  your  men." 

Philip  was  silent.  For  the  moment  every  hope 
was  crushed  within  him. 

He  looked  at  Pierre.  The  half-breed's  eyes 
were  glowing,  his  haggard  cheeks  were  flushed. 

"And  this  is  necessary?" 

"It  is  absolutely  necessary,  M'sieur." 

"Then  I  will  go.  But  first,  Pierre,  I  must 
know  a  little  more.  I  cannot  go  entirely  blind. 
Do  they  fear  my  men — at  Fort  o'  God?'* 

"No,  M'sieur." 

"One  more  question,  Pierre.  Who  is  Lord 
Fitzhugh  Lee?" 

For  an  instant  Pierre's  eyes  widened.  They 
grew  black,  and  burned  with  a  strange,  threaten- 

187 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

ing  fire.  He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  and  placed 
both  hands  upon  Philip's  shoulders.  For  a  full 
minute  the  two  men  stared  into  each  other's 
face.  Then  Pierre  spoke.  His  voice  was  soft 
and  low,  scarcely  above  a  murmur,  but  it  was 
filled  with  something  that  struck  a  chill  to 
Philip's  heart. 

"I  would  kill  you  before  I  would  answer  that 
question,  M'sieur,"  he  said.  "No  other  person 
has  ever  done  for  Jeanne  and  I  what  you  have 
done.  "We  owe  you  more  than  we  can  ever  re- 
pay. Yet  if  you  insist  upon  an  answer  to  that 
question  you  make  of  me  an  enemy;  if  you 
breathe  that  name  to  Jeanne,  you  turn  her  away 
from  you  forever.** 
'  Without  another  word  he  left  the  tent. 

For  many  minutes  Philip  sat  motionless  where 
Pierre  had  left  him.  The  earth  seemed  sudden^ 
ly  to  have  dropped  from  under  his  feet,  leaving 
him  in  an  illimitable  chaos  of  mind.  Gregson 
had  deserted  him,  with  almost  no  word  of  ex- 
planation, and  he  would  have  staked  his  life 
upon  Gregson's  loyalty.  Under  other  circum- 
stances his  unaccountable  action  would  have 
been  a  serious  blow.  But  now  it  was  over- 
shadowed by  the  mysterious  change  that  had 
come  over  Jeanne.  A  few  hours  before  she  had 
been  happy,  laughing  and  singing  as  they  drew 
nearer  to  Fort  o'  God;  each  hour  had  added 
to  the  brightness  of  her  eyes,  the  gladness  in 
her  voice.     The  change  had  come  with  Pierre. 

188 


FtOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

and  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  was  Lord  Fitzhugh 
Lee.  Pierre  had  warned  him  not  to  mention 
Lord  Fitzhugh's  name  to  Jeanne,  and  yet  only 
a  short  time  before  he  had  spoken  the  name  bold- 
ly before  Jeanne,  and  she  had  betrayed  no  sign 
of  recognition  or  of  fear.  More  than  that,  she 
had  assured  him  that  she  had  never  heard  the 
name  before,  that  it  was  not  known  at  Fort  o* 
God. 

Philip  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  his 
jSngers  clutched  in  his  hair.  What  did  it  all 
mean.'^  He  went  back  to  the  scene  on  the  cliff, 
when  Pierre  had  roused  himself  at  the  sound  of 
the  name;  he  thought  of  all  that  had  happened 
since  Gregson  had  come  to  Churchill,  and  the 
result  was  a  delirium  of  thought  that  made  his 
temples  throb.  He  was  sure — now — of  but  few 
things.  He  lov«d  Jeanne — cloved  her  more  than 
he  had  ever  dreamed  that  he  could  love  a  woman, 
and  he  believed  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
her  to  tell  him  a  falsehood.  He  was  confident 
that  she  had  never  heard  of  Lord  Fitzhugh  until 
Pierre  overtook  them  in  their  flight  from  Church- 
ill. He  could  see  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  that 
was  to  follow  Pierre's  advice,  accepting  his 
promise  that  in  the  end  everything  would  come 
out  right.     He  had  faith  in  Pierre. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  went  to  the  tent-flap. 
An  embarrassing  thought  came  to  him,  and  he 
stopped,  a  flush  of  feverish  color  suddenly  mount- 
ing into  his  pale  cheeks.     He  had  kissed  Jeanne 

189 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

in  the  chasm,  when  death  thundered  in  their 
faces.  He  had  kissed  her  again  and  again,  and 
in  those  kisses  he  had  declared  his  love.  He  was 
glad,  and  yet  sorry;  the  knowledge  that  she 
must  know  of  his  love  filled  him  with  happiness, 
and  yet  with  it  there  was  the  feeling  that  it 
would  place  a  distance  between  him  and  Jeanne. 

Jeanne  was  the  first  to  see  him  when  he  came 
out  of  the  tent.  She  was  sitting  beside  a  small 
balsam  shelter,  and  Pierre  was  busy  over  a  fire, 
with  his  back  turned  to  them.  For  a  moment 
the  two  looked  at  each  other  in  silence,  and  then 
Jeanne  came  toward  him,  holding  out  one  of 
her  hands.  He  saw  that  she  was  making  a 
strong  effort  to  appear  natural,  but  there  was 
something  in  his  own  face  that  made  her  at- 
tempt a  poor  one.  The  hand  that  she  gave  him 
trembled.  Her  lips  quivered.  For  the  first 
time  her  eyes  failed  to  meet  his  own  in  their 
limpid  frankness. 

"Pierre  has  told  you  what  happened,"  she 
said.  "It  was  a  miracle,  and  I  owe  you  my  life. 
I  have  had  my  punishment  for  being  so  care- 
less." She  tried  to  laugh  at  him  now,  and  drew 
her  hand  away.  "I  wasn't  beaten  against  the 
rocks,  like  you,  but — " 

"it  was  terrible,"  interrupted  Phihp,  remem- 
bering Pierre's  words,  and  eager  to  put  her  at 
ease.  "You  have  stood  up  under  it  beautifully. 
I  am  afraid  of  after  effects.  You  must  not  col- 
lapse under  the  strain  now." 

190 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Pierre  heard  his  last  words  and  a  smile  flashed 
over  his  dark  face  as  he  encountered  Philip's 
glance. 

"It  is  true,  M'sieur,"  he  said.  "I  know  of 
no  other  woman  who  would  have  stood  up  under 
such  a  thing  as  Jeanne  has  done.  Mon  Dieu, 
when  I  found  a  part  of  the  canoe  wreckage  far 
below  I  thought  that  both  of  you  were  dead!'* 

Philip  began  to  feel  that  he  had  foolishly  over- 
estimated his  strength.  There  was  a  weakness 
in  his  limbs  that  surprised  him,  and  a  sudden 
chill  replaced  the  fever  in  his  blood.  Jeanne 
placed  her  hand  upon  his  arm  and  thrust  him 
gently  toward  the  tent. 

"You  must  not  exert  yourself,"  she  said, 
watching  the  pallor  in  his  face.  "You  must  be 
quiet,  until  after  dinner." 

He  obeyed  the  pressure  of  her  hand.  Pierre 
followed  into  the  tent,  and  for  a  moment  he  was 
compelled  to  lean  heavily  upon  the  half-breed. 

"It  is  the  reaction,  M'sieur,"  said  Pierre. 
**You  are  weak  after  the  fever.  If  you  could 
sleep — " 

"I  can,"  murmured  Philip,  dizzily,  dropping 
upon  his  balsam.     "But,  Pierre — " 

"Yes,  M'sieur." 

"I  have  something — to  say  to  you — ^no  ques- 
tions— " 

"Not  now,  M'sieur." 

Philip  heard  the  rustling  of  the  flap,  and  Pierre 
was  gone.    He  felt  more  comfortable  lying  down* 

191 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

Dizziness  and  nausea  left  him,  and  he  slept.  It 
was  the  deep,  refreshing  sleep  that  always  fol- 
lows the  awakening  from  fever.  When  he  awoke 
he  felt  like  his  old  self,  and  went  outside.  Pierre 
was  alone;  a  blanket  was  drawn  across  the  front 
of  the  balsam  shelter,  and  the  half-breed  nodded 
toward  it  in  response  to  Philip's  inquiring  glance. 
Phihp  ate  lightly  of  the  food  which  Pierre  had 
ready  for  him.  When  he  had  finished  he  leaned 
close  to  him,  and  said: 

"You  have  warned  me  to  ask  no  questions, 
and  I  am  gomg  to  ask  none.  But  you  have  not 
forbidden  me  to  tell  you  things  which  I  know. 
I  am  going  to  talk  to  you  about  Lord  Fitzhugh 
Lee." 
Pierre's  dark  eyes  flashed. 
"M'sieui--" 

"Listen!"  demanded  Philip.  "I  seek  your 
confidence  no  further.  But  I  shall  tell  you  what 
I  know  of  Lord  Fitzhugh  Lee,  if  it  makes  us 
fight.  Do  you  understand?  I  insist  upon  this 
because  you  have  as  good  as  told  me  that  this 
man  is  your  enemy,  and  that  he  is  at  the  bottom 
of  Jeanne's  trouble.  He  is  also  my  enemy.  And 
after  I  have  told  you  why — you  may  change 
your  determination  to  keep  me  a  stranger  to 
your  trouble.  LP  not— well,  you  can  hold  your 
tongue  then  as  well  as  now." 

Quickly,  without  moving  his  eyes  from  Pierre's 
face,  Philip  told  his  own  story  of  Lord  Fitzhugh 
Lee.    And  as  he  continued  a  strange  change 

192 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

came  over  the  half-breed.  When  he  came  to  the 
letters  revealing  the  plot  to  turn  the  northerners 
agamst  his  company  a  low  cry  escaped  Pierre's 
lips.  His  eyes  seemed  starting  from  his  head. 
Drops  of  sweat  burst  out  upon  his  face.  His 
fingers  worked  convulsively,  something  rose  in 
his  throat  and  choked  him.  When  Philip  had 
done  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  For  a  few 
moments  he  remained  thus,  and  then  suddenly 
looked  up.  Livid  spots  burned  in  his  cheeks, 
and  he  fairly  hissed  at  Philip. 

"M'sieur,  if  this  is  not  the  truth — if  this  is  a 
Ke— " 

He  stopped.  Something  in  Philip's  eyes  told 
him  to  go  no  further.  He  was  fearless,  and 
he  saw  more  than  fearlessness  in  Philip's 
face.  Such  men  believe,  when  they  come  to- 
gether. 

"It  is  the  truth,"  said  Philip. 

With  a  low,  strained  laugh  Pierre  held  out  his 
hand  as  a  pledge  of  his  faith. 

"I  believe  in  you,  M'sieur,"  he  said,  and  it 
seemed  an  effort  for  him  to  speak.  "Do  you 
know  what  I  would  have  thought,  if  you  had 
told  this  to  Jeanne  before  I  came?" 

"No." 

"I  would  have  thought,  M'sieur,  that  she 
threw  herself  purposely  into  the  death  of  the 
Big  Thunder  rocks." 

"My  God,  you  mean — " 

"That  is  all,  M'sieur.    I  can  say  no  morob, 

198 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Ah,  there  is  Jeanne!"  he  cried,  more  loudly. 
"Now  we  will  take  down  the  tent,  and  go." 

Jeanne  stood  a  dozen  steps  behind  them  when 
Philip  turned.  She  greeted  him  with  a  smile, 
and  hastened  to  assist  Pierre  in  gathering  wp 
the  things  about  the  camp.  Phihp  was  aot 
blind  to  her  efforts  to  evade  him.  He  could  see 
that  it  was  a  relief  to  her  when  they  wera  at 
last  in  Pierre's  canoe,  and  headed  up  the  river. 
They  traveled  till  late  in  the  evening,  and  set 
up  Jeanne's  tent  by  starhght.  The  journey  was 
continued  at  dawn.  Late  the  following  after- 
noon the  Little  Churchill  swept  through  a  low, 
woodless  country,  called  the  White  Fox  Barren. 
It  was  a  narrow  barren  and  across  it  lay  the  forest 
and  the  ridge  mountains.  Behind  these  moun- 
tains and  the  forest  the  sun  was  setting.  Above 
all  else  there  rose  out  of  the  gathering  gloom  of 
evening  a  single  ridge,  a  towering  mass  of  rock 
v/hich  caught  the  last  glow  of  the  sun,  and  blazed 
like  a  signal-fire. 

The  canoe  stopped.  Jeanne  and  Pierre  both 
gazed  toward  the  great  rock. 

Then  Jeanne,  who  was  in  the  bow,  turned  her 
face  to  Philip,  and  the  glow  of  the  rock  itself 
suffused  her  cheeks  as  she  pointed  over  the 
barren. 

"M'sieur  Philip,"  she  said,  "there  is  Fort  o* 
God!" 


XVI 

THERE  was  a  low  tremble  in  Jeanne's  voice. 
The  canoe  swung  broadside  to  the  slow 
current,  and  Philip  looked  in  astonishment  at 
the  change  in  Pierre.  The  tired  half-breed  had 
uncovered  his  head,  and  knelt  with  his  face 
turned  to  that  last  crimson  glow  in  the  sky,  like 
one  in  prayer.  But  his  eyes  were  open,  there 
was  a  smile  on  his  lips,  and  he  was  breathing 
quickly.  Pride  and  joy  came  where  there  had 
been  the  lines  of  grief  and  exhaustion.  His 
shoulders  were  thrown  back,  his  head  erect,  and 
the  fire  of  the  distant  rock  reflected  itself  in  his 
eyes.'  From  him  Philip  turned,  so  that  he  could 
look  into  Jeanne's  face.  The  girl,  too,  had 
changed.  Again  these  two  were  the  Pierre  and 
Jeanne  whom  he  had  seen  that  first  night  on  the 
moonlit  cliff.  Pierre  seemed  no  longer  the  half- 
'  breed,  but  the  prince  of  the  rapier  and  broad 
cuffs;  and  Jeanne,  smiling  proudly  at  Philip, 
made  him  an  exquisite  little  courtesy  from  her 
cramped  seat  in  the  bow,  and  said: 

"M'sieur  Philip,  welcome  to  Fort  o'  God!" 
"Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  stared  toward  the 
8un-capped  rock. 

108 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

He  could  see  nothing  but  the  rock,  the  black 
forests,  and  the  desolate  barren  stretching  be- 
tween. Fort  o'  God,  unless  it  was  the  rock 
itself,  was  stUl  a  mystery  hidden  in  the  gather- 
ing gloom.  The  canoe  began  moving  slowly 
onward,  and  Jeanne  turned  so  that  her  eyes 
searched  the  stream  ahead.  A  thick  wall  of 
stunted  forest  shut  out  the  barren  from  their 
view;  the  stream  grew  narrower,  and  on  the 
opposite  side  a  barren  ridge,  threatening  them 
with  torn  and  upheaved  masses  of  rock,  flung 
the  heavy  shadows  of  evening  down  upon  them. 
No  one  spoke.  Philip  could  hear  Pierre  breath- 
ing behind  him:  something  in  the  intense  quiet 
' — in  the  awesome  effect  which  their  approach  to 
Fort  o'  God  had  upon  these  two — sent  strange 
little  thrills  shooting  through  his  body.  He 
Hstened,  and  heard  nothing,  not  even  the  howl 
of  a  dog.  The  stillness  was  oppressive,  and  the 
darkness  thickened  about  them.  For  half  an 
hour  they  continued,  and  then  Pierre  headed 
the  canoe  into  a  narrow  creek,  thrusting  it 
through  a  thick  growth  of  wild  rice  and  reeds. 

Balsam  and  cedar  and  swamp  hazel  shut  them 
in.  Overhead  the  tall  cedars  interlaced,  and 
hid  the  pale  light  of  the  sky.  Philip  could  just 
make  out  Jeanne  ahead  of  him. 

And  then,  suddenly,  there  came  a  wonderful 
change.  They  shot  out  of  the  darkness,  as  if 
from  a  tunnel,  but  so  quietly  that  one  a  dozen 
feet  away  could  not  have  beard  the  ripple  of 

196 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Pierre's  paddle.  Almost  in  their  faces  rose  a 
huge  black  bulk,  and  in  that  blackness  three  or 
four  yellow  lights  gleamed  like  mellow  stars. 
The  canoe  touched  noiselessly  upon  sand.  Pierre 
sprang  out,  still  without  sound.  Jeanne  fol- 
lowed, with  a  whispered  word.     PhUip  was  last. 

Pierre  pulled  the  canoe  up,  and  Jeanne  came 
to  Philip.  She  held  out  her  two  hands.  Her 
face  shone  white  in  the  gloom,  and  there  was  a 
look  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  as  she  stood  for  a 
moment  almost  touching  him,  that  set  his  heart 
jumping.  She  let  her  hands  lie  in  his  while 
she  spoke. 

"We  have  not  even  alarmed  the  dogs,  M'sieur 
Philip,"  she  whispered.  "Is  not  that  splendid? 
I  am  going  to  surprise  father,  and  you  will  go 
with  Pierre.     I  will  see  you  a  little  later,  and — " 

She  rose  on  tiptoe,  and  her  face  was  danger- 
ously close  to  his  own. 

"And  you  are  very,  very  welcome  to  FortjJ* 
God,  M'sieur." 

She  slipped  away  into  the  darkness,  and  Pierre 
stood  beside  Philip.  His  white  teeth  were 
gleaming  strangely,  and  he  said  in  a  soft  voice: 

"M'sieur,  that  is  the  first  time  that  I  have 
ever  heard  those  words  spoken  at  Fort  o'  Grod. 
We  welcome  no  man  here  who  has  your  blood 
and  your  civilization  in  his  veins.  You  are 
greater  than  a  king!" 

With  a  sudden  exclamation  Philip  turned 
upon  Pierre. 

187 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"And  that  is  the  reason  for  Jeanne's  sur- 
prise?" he  saidL  "She  wishes  to  pave  a  way  fcff 
me.     I  begin  to  understand!" 

"It  is  true  that  you  might  not  have  received 
that  welcome  which  you  are  certain  to  receive 
now  from  the  master  of  Fort  o*  God,"  repKed 
Pierre,  frankly.  "So  we  will  go  in  quietly,  and 
make  no  disturbance,  while  your  way  is  being 
paved,  as  you  call  it." 

He  walked  ahead,  with  PhiHp  following  so 
closely  that  he  could  have  touched  him.  He 
made  out  more  distinctly  now  the  lines  of  the 
huge  black  edifice  from  which  the  lights  shone. 
It  was  a  massive  structure  of  logs,  two  stories 
high,  a  half  of  it  almost  completely  hidden  in 
the  impenetrable  shadow  of  a  great  wall  of  rock. 
Phihp's  eyes  traveled  up  this  wall,  and  he  was 
convinced  that  he  stood  under  the  rock  upon 
whose  towering  crest  he  had  seen  the  last  reflec- 
tion of  the  evening  sun.  About  him  there  were 
no  signs  of  life  or  of  other  habitation.  Pierre 
moved  swiftly.  They  passed  under  a  small 
lighted  window  that  was  a  foot  above  Philip's 
head,  and  turned  around  the  comer  of  the 
building.    Here  all  was  blackness. 

Pierre  went  straight  to  a  door,  and  uttered  a 
low  word  of  satisfaction  when  he  found  that  it 
was  not  barred.  He  opened  it,  and  reached  out 
a  guiding  hand  to  Philip's  arm.  Philip  entered, 
and  the  door  closed  softly  behind  him.  He  felt 
the  flow  of  warm  air  in  his  face,  and  his  moc« 

198 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

casined  feet  trod  upon  something  soft  and  vel- 
vety. Faintly,  as  though  coming  from  a  great 
distance,  he  heard  a  voice  singing.  It  was  a 
woman's  voice,  but  he  knew  that  it  was  not 
Jeanne's. 

In  spite  of  himself  his  heart  was  beating  ex- 
citedly. The  mystery  of  Fort  o'  God  was  about 
him,  warm  and  subtle,  like  a  strange  spirit,  send- 
ing through  him  the  thrill  of  anticipation,  a 
hundred  fancies,  Httle  fears.  Pierre  advanced, 
still  guiding  him;  then  he  stopped,  and  chuckled 
softly  in  the  darkness.  The  distant  voice  had 
stopped  singing,  and  there  came  in  place  of  it 
the  loud  barking  of  a  dog,  an  imintelligible 
sound  of  a  voice,  and  then  quiet.  Jeanne  had 
sprung  her  surprise. 

Pierre  led  the  way  to  another  room. 

"This  is  to  be  your  room,  M'sieur,'*  he  ex- 
plained. "Make  yourself  comfortable.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  the  master  of  Fort  o'  God  will 
wish  to  see  you  very  soon.** 

He  struck  a  match  as  he  spoke,  and  Jighted  a 
lamp.     A  moment  more  and  he  was  gone. 

Philip  looked  about  him.  He  was  in  a  room 
fully  twenty  feet  square,  furnished  in  a  manner 
that  drew  from  him  an  audible  gasp  of  aston- 
ishment. At  one  end  of  the  room  was  a  massive 
mahogany  bed,  screened  by  heavy  curtains 
which  were  looped  back  by  silken  cords.  Near 
the  bed  was  an  old-fashioned  mahogany  dresser, 
with  a  diamond-shaped  mirror,  and  in  front  of 

199 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

ft  a  straight-backed  chair  adorned  with  the 
grotesque  carving  of  an  ancient  and  long-dead 
fashion.  About  him,  everywhere,  were  the 
evidences  of  luxury  and  of  age.  The  big  lamp, 
which  gave  a  brilHant  hght,  was  of  hammered 
brass;  the  base  of  its  square  pedestal  was  partly 
hidden  in  the  rumples  of  a  heavy  damask  spread 
which  covered  the  table  on  which  it  rested.  The 
table  itself  was  old,  spindle-legged,  glowing  with 
the  mellow  luster  endowed  by  many  passing 
generations — a  relic  of  the  days  when  the  origi- 
nator of  its  fashion  became  the  favorite  of  s 
capricious  and  beautiful  queen.  Soft  rugs  were 
upon  the  floor;  from  the  walls,  papered  and 
hung  with  odd  bits  of  tapestry,  strange  faces 
looked  down  upon  Philip  from  out  of  heavy 
gilded  frames;  faces  grim,  pale,  shadowed;  men 
with  plaited  ruffles  and  curls;  women  with  pow- 
dered hair,  who  gazed  down  upon  him  haughtily, 
as  if  they  wondered  at  his  intrusion. 

One  picture  was  turned  with  its  face  to  the 
wall.  « 

Philip  sank  into  a  huge  arm-chair,  cushioned 
with  velvet,  and  dropped  his  cap  upon  the  floor* 
And  this  was  Fort  o'  God !  He  scarcely  breathed. 
He  was  back  two  centuries,  and  he  stared,  as  if 
each  moment  he  expected  some  manifestation  of 
life  in  what  he  saw.  He  had  dreamed  his  dream 
over  the  dead  at  Churchill;  here  it  was  reahty 
— almost;  it  lacked  but  a  breath,  a  movement^ 
a  flutter  of  life  in  the  dead  faces  that  looked 

200 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

down  upon  him.  He  gazed  up  at  them  again, 
and  laughed  a  little  nervously.  Then  he  fixed 
his  eyes  on  the  opposite  wall.  One  of  the  pic- 
tures was  moving.  The  thought  in  his  brain  had 
given  birth  to  the  movement  he  had  imagined. 
It  was  a  woman's  face  in  the  picture,  young 
and  beautiful,  and  it  nodded  to  him,  one  moment 
radiant  with  light,  the  next  caught  in  shadows 
that  cast  over  it  a  gloom.  He  jumped  from  his 
chair  and  went  so  that  he  stood  directly  under  it. 

A  current  of  warm  air  shot  up  into  his  face 
from  the  floor.  It  was  this  air  that  was  causing 
movement  in  the  picture,  and  he  looked  down. 
What  he  discovered  broke  the  spell  he  was  under. 
About  him  were  the  rehcs  of  age,  of  a  life  long 
dead.  Rubens  might  have  sat  in  that  room, 
and  mourned  over  his  handiwork,  lost  in  a  wild- 
erness. The  stingy  Louis  might  have  recog- 
nized in  the  spindle-legged  table  a  bit  of  his 
predecessor's  extravagance,  which  he  had  sold 
for  the  good  of  the  exchequer  of  France;  a 
Gobelin  might  have  reclaimed  one  of  the  woven 
landscapes  on  the  wall,  a  Grosellier  himself 
have  issued  from  behind  the  curtained  bed. 
Philip  himself,  in  that  environment,  was  the 
stranger.  It  was  the  current  of  warm  air  which 
brought  him  back  from  the  eighteenth  to  the 
twentieth  century.  Under  his  feet  was  a  fur- 
nace! 

Even  the  master  of  Fort  o'  God,  stem  and  for- 
bidding as  Philip  began  to  imagine  him,  might 

14  901 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

have  laughed  at  the  look  which  came  into  hig 
face.  Grosellier,  the  cavalier,  had  he  appeared, 
Philip  would  have  accepted  with  the  same 
confidence  that  he  had  accepted  Jeanne  and 
Pierre.  But — a  furnace!  He  thrust  his  hands 
deep  in  his  pockets,  a  trick  which  was  always 
the  last  convincing  evidence  of  his  perplexity, 
and  walked  slowly  around  the  room.  There  were 
two  books  on  the  table.  One,  bound  in  faded 
red  vellum,  was  a  Greek  Anthology,  the  other 
Drummond's  Ascent  of  Man.  There  were  other 
books  on  a  quaintly  carved  shelf,  under  the 
picture  which  had  been  turned  to  the  wall.  He 
ran  over  the  titles.  There  were  a  number  of 
French  novels,  Ely's  Socialism,  Sir  Thomas 
More's  Utopia,  St.  Pierre's  Paul  and  Virginia, 
and  a  dozen  other  volumes;  there  were  Balzac 
and  Hugo,  and  Dante's  Divine  Comedy.  Amid 
this  array,  like  a  black  sheep  lost  among  the 
angels,  was  a  finger-worn  and  faded  Httle  vol- 
ume bearing  the  name  Camille.  Something 
about  this  one  book,  so  strangely  out  of  place  in 
its  present  company,  aroused  Philip's  curiosity. 
It  bore  the  name,  too,  which  he  had  found 
worked  in  the  corner  of  Jeanne's  handkerchief.! 
In  a  way,  the  presence  of  this  book  gave  him  a 
sort  of  shock,  and  he  took  it  in  his  hands,  and 
opened  the  cover.  Under  his  fingers  were  pages 
yellow  and  frayed  with  age,  and  in  an  ancient 
type,  once  black,  the  title.  The  Meaning  of  God, 
In  a  large  masculine  hand  some  one  had  written 

202 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

under  this  title  the  accompanying  words':  ''A 
black  skin  often  contains  a  white  soul;  a  woman's 
beauty,  hell." 

Philip  replaced  the  book  with  a  feeling  of  awe. 
Something  in  those  words,  brutal  in  their  truth — 
something  in  the  strange  whim  that  had  placed 
a  pearl  of  purity  within  the  faded  and  worn 
mask  of  the  condemned,  seemed  to  speak  to 
him  of  a  tragedy  that  might  be  a  key  to  the 
mystery  of  Fort  o'  God.  From  the  books  he 
looked  up  at  the  picture  which  had  been  turned 
to  the  wall.  The  temptation  to  see  what  was 
hidden  overcame  him,  and  he  turned  the  frame 
over.  Then  he  stepped  back  with  a  low  cry 
of  pleasure. 

From  out  of  the  proscribed  canvas  there 
smiled  down  upon  him  a  face  of  bewildering 
beauty.  It  was  the  face  of  a  young  woman,  a 
stranger  among  its  companions,  because  it  was 
of  the  present.  Philip  stepped  to  one  side,  so 
that  the  light  from  the  lamp  shone  from  behind 
him,  and  he  wondered  if  the  picture  had  been 
condemned  to  hang  with  its  face  to  the  wall 
because  it  typified  the  existent  rather  than  the 
past.  He  looked  more  closely,  and  drew  back 
step  by  step,  until  he  was  in  the  proper  focus  to 
bring  out  every  expression  in  the  lovely  face. 
In  the  picture  he  saw  each  moment  a  greater 
resemblance  to  Jeanne.  The  eyes,  the  hair,  the 
sweetness  of  the  mouth,  the  smile,  brought  to 
him  a  vision  of  Jeanne  herself.     The  woman  in 

203 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

the  picture  was  older  than  Jeanne,  and  his  first 
thought  was  that  it  must  be  a  sister,  or  her  mother. 
It  came  to  him  in  the  next  breath  that  this 
would  be  impossible,  for  Jeanne  had  been  found 
by  Pierre  in  the  deep  snows,  on  her  dead  mother's 
breast.  And  this  was  a  painting  of  life,  of 
youth,  of  beauty,  and  not  of  death  and  starva* 
tion. 

He  returned  the  forbidden  picture  to  the  posi- 
tion in  which  he  had  found  it  against  the  wall, 
half  ashamed  of  the  act  and  thoughts  into  which 
his  curiosity  had  led  him.  And  yet,  after  all, 
it  was  not  curiosity.  He  told  himself  that  as 
he  washed  himself  and  groomed  his  disheveled 
clothes. 

An  hour  had  passed  when  he  heard  a  low  tap 
at  the  door,  and  Pierre  came  in.  In  that  time 
the  half-breed  had  undergone  a  transformation. 
He  was  dressed  in  an  exquisite  coat  of  yellow 
buckskin,  with  the  same  old-fashioned  cuffs  he 
had  worn  when  Philip  first  saw  him,  trousers  of 
the  same  material,  buckled  below  the  knees,  and 
boot-moccasins  with  flaring  tops.  He  wore  a 
new  rapier  at  his  waist,  and  his  glossy  black 
hair  was  brushed  smoothly  back,  and  fell  loose 
upon  his  shoulders.  It  was  the  courtier,  and 
Rot  Pierre  the  half-breed,  who  bowed  to  Philip. 

"M'sieur,  are  you  ready?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Philip. 

"Then  we  will  go  to  M'sieur  d'Arcambal,  the 
faster  of  Fort  o'  God." 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

They  passed  out  into  the  hall,  which  was  faint- 
ly illumined  now,  so  that  Philip  caught  glimpses 
of  deep  shadows  and  massive  doors  as  he  fol- 
lowed behind  Pierre.  They  turned  into  a  sec- 
ond hall,  at  the  end  of  which  was  an  open  door 
through  which  came  a  flood  of  light.  At  this 
door  Pierre  stopped,  and  with  a  bow  allowed  his 
companion  to  pass  in  ahead  of  him.  The  next 
moment  Philip  stood  in  a  room  twice  as  large 
as  the  one  he  had  left.  It  was  brilliantly  lighted 
by  three  or  four  lamps;  he  had  only  an  instant*s 
vision  of  numberless  shelves  loaded  with  books, 
of  walls  covered  with  pictures,  of  a  ponderous 
table  in  front  of  him,  and  then  he  heard  a  voice. 

A  man  stepped  out  from  beside  the  door,  and 
he  stood  face  to  face  with  the  master  of  Fort 
o'  God. 


xvn 

HE  was  an  old  man.  Beard  and  hair  were 
white.  He  was  as  tall  as  Philip;  his 
shoulders  were  broader;  his  chest  massive;  and 
as  he  stood  under  the  light  of  one  of  the  hanging 
lamps,  his  face  shiniug  with  a  pale  glow,  one 
hand  upon  his  breast,  the  other  extended,  it 
seemed  to  Philip  that  all  of  the  greatness  and 
past  glory  of  Fort  o'  God,  whatever  they  may 
have  been,  were  personified  in  the  man  he  beheld. 
He  was  dressed  in  soft  buckskin,  like  Pierre. 
His  hair  and  beard  grew  in  wild  disorder,  and 
from  under  shaggy  eyebrows  there  burned  a  pair 
of  deep-set  eyes  of  the  color  of  blue  steel.  He 
was  a  man  to  inspire  awe;  old,  and  yet  young; 
white-haired,  gray-faced,  and  yet  a  giant.  One 
might  have  expected  from  between  his  bearded 
lips  a  voice  as  thrilling  as  his  appearance;  a 
rumbling  voice,  deep-chested,  sonorous — and  it 
would  have  caused  no  surprise.  It  was  the 
voice  that  surprised  Philip  more  than  the  man. 
It  was  low,  and  trembling  with  an  agitation 
which  even  strength  and  pride  could  not  con- 
trol. 

"Philii^  Whittemore,  I  am  Henry  d'Arcam- 

206 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

bal.  May  God  bless  you  for  what  you  have 
done!" 

A  hand  of  iron  gripped  his  own.  And  then, 
before  Philip  had  found  words  to  say,  the  master 
of  Fort  o'  God  suddenly  placed  his  arms  about 
his  shoulders  and  embraced  him.  Their  shoul- 
ders touched.  Their  faces  were  close.  The  two 
men  who  loved  Jeanne  d'Arcambal  above  all 
else  on  earth  gazed  for  a  silent  moment  into 
each  otha*'s  eyes. 

"They  have  told  me,**  said  D'Arcambal,  soft- 
ly. "You  have  brought  my  Jeanne  home 
through  death.  Accept  a  father's  blessing,  and 
with  it— this!" 

He  stepped  back,  and  swept  his  arms  about 
the  great  room. 

"Everything — everything — would  have  gone 
with  her,"  he  said.  "If  you  had  let  her  die,  I 
should  have  died.  My  God,  what  peril  she  was 
in!  In  saving  her  you  saved  me.  So  you  are 
welcome  here,  as  a  son.  For  thi^  first  time  since 
my  Jeanne  was  a  babe  Fort  o'  God  offers  itself 
to  a  man  who  is  a  stranger  and  its  hospitality 
is  yours  so  long  as  its  walls  hang  together.  And 
as  they  have  done  this  for  upward  of  two  hun- 
dred years,  M'sieur  Philip,  we  may  conclude 
that  our  friendship  is  to  be  without  end." 

He  clasped  Philip's  hands  again,  and  two  tears 
coursed  down  his  gray  cheeks.  It  was  difficult 
Cor  Philip  to  restrain  the  joy  his  words  produced, 
which,  coming  from  the  lips  of  Jeanne's  father, 

ao7 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

lifted  him  suddenly  into  a  paradise  of  hope. 
For  many  reasons  he  had  come  to  expect  a  none 
too  warm  reception  at  Fort  o'  God;  he  had 
looked  ahead  to  the  place  with  a  grim  sort  of 
fear,  scarcely  definable;  and  here  Jeanne's 
father  was  opening  his  arms  to  him.  Pierre 
was  unapproachable;  Jeanne  herself  was  a 
mystery,  filling  him  alternately  with  hope  and 
despau*;  D'Arcambal  had  accepted  him  as  a 
son.  He  could  find  no  words  adequate  to  his 
emotion;  none  that  could  describe  his  own 
happiness,  unless  it  was  in  a  bold  avowal  of 
his  love  for  the  girl  he  had  saved.  And  this  his 
good  sense  told  him  not  to  make,  at  the  present 
moment. 

"Any  man  would  have  done  as  much  for  your 
daughter,"  he  said  at  last,  "and  I  am  happy  that 
I  was  the  fortimate  one  to  render  her  assist- 
ance." 

"You  are  wrong,"  said  D'Arcambal,  taking  him 
by  the  arm.  "You  are  one  out  of  a  thousand. 
It  takes  a  man  to  go  through  the  Big  Thunder 
and  come  out  at  the  other  end  alive.  I  know  of 
only  one  other  who  has  done  that  in  the  last 
twenty  years,  and  that  other  is  Henry  d'Arcam- 
bal  himself.  We  three,  you,  Jeanne,  and  I, 
have  alone  triumphed  over  those  monsters  of 
death.  All  others  have  died.  It  seems  like  a 
strange  pointing  of  the  hand  of  God." 

Philip  trembled. 

"We  three!"  he  exclaimed. 

208 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

"We  three,"  said  the  old  man,  "and  for  that 
reason  you  are  a  part  of  Fort  o'  God." 

He  led  Philip  deeper  into  the  great  room,  and 
Philip  saw  that  almost  all  the  space  along  the  walls 
of  the  huge  room  was  occupied  by  shelves  upon 
shelves  of  books,  masses  of  papers,  piles  of  maga- 
zines shoulder-high,  scores  of  maps  and  paint- 
ings. The  massive  table  was  covered  with  books ; 
there  were  piles  on  smaller  tables;  chairs,  and 
the  jfloor  itself,  covered  with  the  skins  of  a  score 
of  wild  beasts,  were  littered  with  them.  At  the 
far  end  of  the  room  he  saw  deeper  and  darker 
shelves,  where  gleamed  faintly  in  the  lamplight 
row  ujx)n  row  of  vials  and  bottles  and  strange 
instruments  of  stedl  and  glass.  A  scientist  in 
the  wilderness — a  student  exiled  in  a  desolation! 
These  were  the  thoughts  that  leaped  into  his 
mind,  and  he  knew  that  in  this  room  Jeanne  had 
been  created;  that  here,  between  these  centuries- 
old  walls,  amid  an  environment  of  strange  si- 
lence, of  whispering  age,  her  visions  of  the  world 
had  come.  Here,  separated  from  all  her  kind, 
God,  Nature,  and  a  father  had  made  her  of 
their  handiworic. 

The  old  man  pointed  Philip  to  a  chair  near  the 
large  table,  and  sat  down  close  to  him.  At  his 
feet  was  a  stool  covered  with  silvay  lynx-skin, 
and  D'Arcambal  looked  at  this,  his  strong,  grim 
face  relaxing  into  a  gentle  smile  of  happiness. 

"There  is  where  Jeanne  sits — at  my  feet,"  he 
said.     "It  has  been  her  place  for  many  years. 

209 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

When  she  is  not  there  I  am  lost.  Life  ceases. 
This  room  has  been  our  world.  To-night  you 
are  in  Fort  o'  God;  to-morrow  you  will  see 
D'Arcambal  House.  You  have  heard  of  that, 
perhaps,  but  never  of  Fort  o'  God.  That  be- 
longs to  Jeanne  and  me,  to  Pierre — and  you. 
Fort  o'  God  is  the  heart,  the  soul,  the  hfe's  blood 
of  D'Arcambal  House.  It  is  this  room  and  two 
or  three  others.  D'Arcambal  House  is  our  bar- 
rier. When  strangers  come,  they  see  D'Arcam^ 
bal  House;  plain  rooms,  of  rough  wood;  quar- 
ters such  as  you  have  seen  at  posts  and  stations; 
the  mask  which  gives  no  hint  of  what  is  hidden 
within.  It  is  there  that  we  live  to  the  world; 
it  is  here  that  we  live  to  ourselves.  Jeanne  has 
my  permission  to  tell  you  whatever  she  wishes, 
a  little  later.  But  I  am  curious,  and  being  an 
old  man  must  be  humored  first.  I  am  still 
trembling.  You  must  tell  me  what  happened 
to  Jeanne." 

For  an  hour  they  talked,  and  Philip  went  over 
one  by  one  the  events  as  they  had  occurred  since 
the  fight  on  the  cliff,  omitting  only  such  things 
as  he  thought  that  Jeanne  and  Pierre  might  wish 
to  keep  secret  to  themselves.  At  the  end  of 
that  hour  he  was  certain  that  D'Arcambal  was 
unaware  of  the  dark  cloud  that  had  suddenly 
come  into  Jeanne's  life.  The  old  man's  brow  was 
knitted  with  deep  hues,  and  his  powerful  jaws 
were  set  hard,  as  Philip  told  of  the  ambush,  of 
the  wounding  of  Pierre,  and  the  flight  of  his 

210 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

assailants  with  his  daughter.  It  was  to  get 
money,  the  old  man  thought.  The  half-breed 
had  suggested  that,  and  Jeanne  herself  had  given 
it  as  her  opinion.  Why  else  should  they  have 
been  attacked  at  Churchill.'*  Such  things  had 
occurred  before,  he  told  Philip.  The  little 
daughter  of  the  factor  at  Nelson  House  had  been 
stolen,  and  held  for  ransom.  With  a  hundred 
questions  he  wrung  from  Philip  every  detail  of 
the  second  fight  and  of  the  struggle  for  life  in 
the  rapids.  He  betrayed  no  physical  excite- 
ment, even  in  those  moments  of  Philip's  de~ 
scription  when  Jeanne  hung  between  life  and 
death;  but  in  his  eyes  there  was  the  glow  of  red- 
hot  fires.  At  last  there  came  to  interrupt  them 
the  low,  musical  tinkling  of  a  bell  under  the  table. 

D'Arcambal's  face  lighted  up  suddenly. 

"Ah,  I  had  forgotten,"  he  exclaimed.  "Par- 
don me,  Philip.  Dinner  has  been  awaiting  us 
this  last  half -hour;  and  besides — '* 

He  reached  out  and  touched  a  tiny  button, 
which  Philip  had  not  observed  before. 

"I  am  selfish." 

He  had  hardly  ceased  speaking  when  footsteps 
soimded  in  the  hall,  and  in  spite  of  every  resolu- 
tion he  had  made  to  guard  himself  against  any 
betrayal  of  the  emotions  burning  in  his  breast, 
PhiHp  sprang  to  his  feet.  Jeanne  had  come  in 
under  the  glow  of  the  lamps  and  stood  now  a 
dozen  feet  from  him,  a  vision  so  exquisitely 
lovely  that  he  saw  nothing  of  those  who  en- 

211 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

tered  behind  her,  nor  heard  D'Arcambal's  low, 
happy  laugh  at  his  side.  It  seemed  to  him  for 
a  moment  as  if  there  had  suddenly  appeared  be- 
fore him  the  face  of  the  picture  that  was  turned 
against  the  wall,  only  more  beautiful  now, 
radiant  with  the  glow  of  living  flesh  and  blood. 
But  there  was  something  even  more  startling 
than  this  resemblance.  In  this  moment  Jeanne 
was  the  fulfilment  of  his  dream;  she  had  come 
to  him  from  out  of  another  world.  She  was 
dressed  in  an  old-fashioned  gown  of  pure  white, 
a  fabric  so  delicate  that  it  seemed  to  float  about 
her  slender  form,  responsive  to  every  breath  she 
drew.  Her  white  shoulders  revealed  themselves 
above  masses  of  filmy  lace  that  fell  upon  her 
bosom;  her  slender  arms,  girlish  rather  than 
womanly  in  their  beauty,  were  bare.  Her  hair 
was  bound  up  in  shining  coils  about  her  head, 
with  a  single  flower  nestling  amid  a  Httle  cluster 
of  curls  that  fell  upon  her  neck.  After  his  first 
movement,  Philip  recovered  himself  by  a  strong 
effort.  He  bowed  low  to  conceal  the  flush  in 
his  face.  Jeanne  swept  him  a  little  courtesy, 
and  then  ran  past  him,  with  the  eagerness  of 
any  modern  child,  into  the  outstretched  arms 
of  her  father. 

Laughter  and  joy  rumbled  in  the  beard  of 
the  master  of  Fort  o'  God  as  he  looked  over 
Jeanne's  head  at  Philip. 

"And  this  is  what  you  have  saved  for  me," 
he  said. 

212 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

Then  he  looked  beyond,  and  for  the  first  time 
Philip  realized  there  were  others  in  the  room. 
One  was  Pierre;  the  other  a  pretty,  dark-faced 
girl,  with  hair  that  glistened  like  a  raven's  wing 
in  the  lamp-glow. 

Jeanne  left  her  father's  arms  and  gave  her 
hand  to  Philip. 

"M'sieur  Philip,  this  is  my  sister.  Made- 
moiselle Couchee,"  she  cried. 

Pierre's  sister  gave  Philip  her  hand,  and  be- 
hind them  D'Arcambal  laughed  softly  in  his 
beard  again,  and  said: 

"To-morrow,  in  D'Arcambal  House,  you  may 
call  her  OtUle,  Philip.  But  to-night  we  are  in 
Fort  o'  God.  Oh,  Jeanne,  Jeanne,  what  a  witch 
you  are!" 

"An  angel!"  breathed  Philip,  but  no  one  heard 
him. 

"And  this  witch,"  added  the  old  man,  "you 
are  to  take  in  to  supper,  M'sieur  Philip.  To 
night  I  suppose  that  I  must  call  you  m'sieur, 
but  to-morrow,  when  I  have  on  my  leather 
leggings  and  my  skin  cap,  I  will  call  you  Phil, 
or  Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry,  just  as  I  please.  This 
is  the  first  time,  sir,  that  my  Jeanne  has  ever 
gone  in  to  dinner  on  another  arm  than  mine  or 
Pierre's.  And  so  I  may  be  a  little  jealous. 
Proceed." 

As  Jeanne's  hand  rested  in  his  arm,  and  they 
went  into  the  hall,  Philip  could  not  restrain  him* 
self  from  whispering: 

£18 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"i;am  glad— of  that." 

"And  the  dress,  M'sieur  Philip!"  exclaimed 
D'Arcambal  behind  them,  in  the  voice  of  a 
happy  boy.  "It  is  an  honor  to  escort  that,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  silly  girl  that's  in  it.  That 
dress,  sir,  belonged  to  a  beautiful  lady  who  was 
called  Camille,  and  who  died  over  a  c^itury 
ago." 

"Father,  please  do  be  good!"  protested  Jeanne. 
"Remember!" 

"Ah,  so  I  will,"  said  her  father.  "I  had  for- 
gotten that  you  were  to  tell  M'sieur  Phihp  these 
things." 

They  entered  another  room  illimiinated  by  a 
single  huge  lamp  suspended  above  a  table  spread 
with  silver  and  fine  linen.  The  room  was  as 
great  a  surprise  as  the  other  two  had  been.  It 
contained  no  chairs.  What  Philip  mentally 
designated  as  benches,  with  deep  cushion  seats 
of  greenish  leather,  were  arranged  about  the 
table.  These  same  curious  seats  furnished  other 
parts  of  the  room.  From  the  pictures  on  the 
walls  to  the  ancient  helmet  and  cuirass  that 
stood  up  like  a  legless  sentinel  in  one  corner,  this 
room,  like  the  others,  breathed  of  extreme  age. 
Over  a  big  open  fireplace,  iu  which  half  a  dozen 
birch  logs  were  burning,  hung  a  number  of  old- 
fashioned  weapons;  a  flintlock,  a  pair  of  obso- 
lete French  dueling  pistols,  a  short  rapier  similar 
to  that  which  Pierre  wore,  and  two  long  swords. 
Philip  noticed  that  about  each  of  the  dueling 

214 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

pistols  was  tied  a  bow  of  ribbon,  dull  and  faded, 
as  though  the  passing  of  generations  had  robbed 
them  of  beauty  and  color,  to  be  replaced  by  the 
somberness  of  age. 

During  the  meal  Philip  could  not  but  observe 
that  Jeanne  was  laboring  under  some  mysterious 
strain.  Her  cheeks  were  brilliantly  jflushed,  and 
her  eyes  were  filled  with  a  lustrous  brightness 
that  he  had  never  seen  in  them  before.  Their 
beauty  was  almost  feverish.  Several  times  he 
caught  a  strange  little  tremor  of  her  white 
shoulders,  as  though  a  sudden  chill  had  passed 
through  her.  He  discovered,  too,  that  Pierre 
was  observing  these  things,  and  that  there  was 
something  forced  in  the  half-breed's  cheerful- 
ness. But  D'Arcambal  and  Otille  seemed  com- 
pletely oblivious  of  any  change.  Their  happi- 
ness overflowed.  Phihp  thought  of  his  last 
supper  at  Churchill,  with  Eileen  Brokaw  and 
her  father.  Miss  Brokaw  had  acted  strangely 
then,  and  had  struggled  to  hide  some  secret 
grief  or  excitement,  as  Jeanne  was  struggling 
now. 

He  was  glad  when  the  meal  was  finished,'*and 
the  master  of  Fort  o'  God  rose  from  his  seat. 
At  D'Arcambal's  movement  his  eyes  caught 
Jeanne's,  and  then  he  saw  that  Pierre  was  look- 
ing sharply  at  him. 

"Jeanne  owes  you  an  apology — and  an  ex- 
planation, M'sieur  Phihp,"  said  D'Arcambal, 
resting  a  hand  upon  Jeanne's  head.     "We  are 

215 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

going  to  retire,  and  she  will  initiate  you  into  the 
fold  of  Fort  o'  God." 

Pierre  and  Otille  followed  him  from  the  room. 
For  the  first  time  in  an  horn*  Jeanne  laughed 
frankly  at  Philip. 

"There  isn't  much  to  explain,  M'sieur  Philip,** 
she  said,  rising  from  her  seat.  "  You  know  pretty 
nearly  all  there  is  to  know  about  Fort  o'  God 
now.  Only  I  am  sure  that  I  did  not  appear  to 
value  your  confidence  very  much — a  little  while 
ago.  It  must  have  seemed  ungrateful  in  me, 
indeed,  to  have  told  you  so  Httle  about  myself 
and  my  home,  after  what  you  did  for  Pierre  and 
me.  But  I  have  father's  permission  now.  It 
is  the  second  time  that  he  has  ever  given  it 
to  me." 

"And  I  don't  want  to  hear,"  exclaimed  Philip, 
bluntly.  "I  have  been  more  or  less  of  a  brute. 
Miss  Jeanne.  I  know  enough  about  Fort  o' 
God.  It  is  a  glorious  place.  You  owe  me  noth- 
ing, and  for  that  reason — " 

"But  I  insist,"  interrupted  the  girl.  "Do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  do  not  care  to  listen,  when 
this  is  the  second  time  in  my  life  that  I  have  had 
the  opportunity  of  talking  about  my  home.''  And 
the  first — didn't  give  me  any  pleasure.  This 
will." 

A  shadow  came  into  Jeanne's  eyes.  She  mo- 
tioned him  to  a  seat  beside  her  in  front  of  the 
fire.  Her  nearness,  the  touch  of  her  dress,  the 
sweet   perfume   of   her   presence,   thrilled   him. 

216 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

He  felt  that  the  moment  was  near  when  the 
whole  world  as  he  knew  it  was  to  slip  away  from 
him,  leaving  him  in  a  paradise,  or  a  chaos  of 
despair.  Jeanne  looked  up  at  the  dueling  pistols. 
The  firelight  trembled  in  the  soft  folds  of  lace 
over  her  bosom;  it  glistened  in  her  hair,  and 
lighted  her  face  with  a  gentle  glow. 

"There  isn't  much  to  explain,"  she  said  again, 
in  a  voice  so  low  that  it  was  hardly  more  than  a 
whisper.  **But  what  Kttle  there  is  I  want  you 
to  know,  so  that  when  you  go  away  you  will 
understand.  More  than  two  hundred  years  ago 
a  band  of  gentlemen  adventurers  were  sent  over 
into  this  country  by  Prince  Rupert  to  form  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company.  That  is  history,  and 
you  know  more  of  it,  probably,  than  I.  One  of 
these  men  was  Le  Chevalier  Grosellier.  One 
summer  he  came  up  the  Churchill,  and  stopped 
at  the  great  rock  on  which  we  saw  the  sun  setting 
to-night,  and  which  was  called  the  Sun  Rock  by 
the  Indians.  He  was  struck  by  the  beauty  of 
the  place,  and  when  he  went  back  to  France,  it 
was  with  the  plan  of  returning  to  build  himself 
a  chateau  in  the  wilderness.  Two  or  three  years 
later  he  did  this,  and  called  the  place  Fort  o*  God. 
For  more  than  a  century,  M'sieur,  Fort  o'  God 
was  a  place  of  revel  and  pleasure  in  the  heart  of 
this  desolation.  Early  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury it  passed  into  the  hands  of  a  man  by  the 
name  of  D'Arcy,  and  it  is  said  that  at  one  time 
it  housed  twenty  gentlemen  and  as  many  ladies 

15  217 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

oi  France  for  one  whole  season.  Its  history  Is 
obscure,  and  mostly  lost.  But  for  a  long  time 
after  D'Arcy  came  it  was  a  place  of  adventure, 
of  pleasure,  and  of  mystery,  very  little  of  which 
remains  to-day.  Those  are  his  pistols  above  the 
fire.  He  was  killed  by  one  of  them  out  there 
beside  the  big  rock,  in  a  quarrel  with  one  of  his 
guests  over  a  woman.  We  think — here — from 
letters  that  we  have  found,  that  her  name  was 
Camille.  There  is  a  chest  in  my  room  filled 
with  linen  that  bears  her  name.  This  dress 
came  from  that  chest.  I  have  to  be  careful  of 
them,  as  they  tear  very  easily.  After  D'Arcy  the 
place  was  almost  forgotten  and  remained  so 
until  nearly  forty  years  ago  when  my  father 
came  into  possession  of  it.  That,  M'sieur,  is 
the  very  simple  story  of  Fort  o'  God.  Its  old 
name  is  forgotten.  It  lives  only  with  us.  Others 
know  it  as  D'Arcambal  House." 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  of  that,'*  said  Philip. 

He  waited  for  Jeanne,  and  saw  that  her  fingers 
were  nervously  twisting  a  bit  of  ribbon  in  her  lap. 

"Of  course,  that  is  uninteresting,"  she  con- 
tinued. "You  can  almost  guess  the  rest.  We 
have  lived  here — alone.  Not  one  of  us  has  ever 
felt  the  desire  to  leave  this  little  world  of  ours. 
It  is  curious — ^you  may  scarcely  believe  what  I 
say — ^but  it  is  true  that  we  look  out  upon  your 
big  world  and  laugh  at  it  and  dislike  it.  I 
guess — that  I  have  been  taught  to  hate  it — since 
I  can  remember." 

218 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

There  was  a  little  tremble  in  Jeanne's  voice, 
an  instant's  quivering  of  her  chin.  Philip  looked 
from  her  face  into  the  fire,  and  stared  hard, 
choking  back  words  which  were  ready  to  burst 
from  his  lips.  In  place  of  them  he  said,  with  a 
touch  of  bitterness  in  his  voice: 

"And  I  have  grown  to  hate  my  world,  Jeanne. 
It  has  compelled  me  to  hate  it.  That  is  why  I 
spoke  to  you  that  night  on  the  cliff  at  Churchill." 

"I  have  sometimes  thought  that  I  have  been 
very  wrong,"  said  the  girl.     "I  have  never  seen 
this  other  world.     I  know  nothing  of  it,  except 
as  I  have  been  taught.     I  have  no  right  to  hate 
it,  and  yet  I  do.     I  have  never  wanted  to  see  it. 
I  have  never  cared  to  know  the  people  who  lived 
in  it.    I  wish  that  I  could  understand,  but  I 
cannot;    except  that  father  has  made  for  us, 
for  Pierre  and  Otille  and  me,  this  little  world  at 
Fort  o'  God,  and  has  taught  us  to  fear  the  other. 
I  know  that  there  is  no  other  man  in  the  whole 
world  like  my  father,  and  that  what  he  has 
done  must  be  best.     It  is  his  pride  that  we 
bring  your  world  to  our  doors,  but  that  we  never 
go  to  it;  he  says  that  we  know  more  about  that 
world  than  the  people  who  live  there,  which  of 
course  cannot  be  so.     And  so  we  have  grown  up 
amid  the  old  memories,  the  pictures,  and  the 
dead  romances  of  Fort  o'  God.     We  have  taken 
pleasure  in  living  as  we  do — in  making  for  our- 
selves our  own  little  social  codes,  our  childish 
aristocracy,  our  make-believe  world.     It  is  the 

219 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

spirit  of  Fort  o'  God  that  lives  with  us,  and 
makes  us  content;  the  shadow-faces  oi  men  and 
women  who  once  filled  these  rooms  with  life  and 
pleasure,  and  whose  memory  seems  to  have 
passed  into  our  keeping  alone,  I  know  them  all; 
many  of  their  names,  all  of  their  faces.  I  have 
a  daguerreotype  of  Camille  Poitiers,  and  she 
must  have  been  very  beautiful.  There  are  the 
tiniest  slippers  in  the  world  in  her  chest,  and 
ribbons  like  those  which  are  tied  about  the 
pistols.  There  is  a  painting  of  D'Arcy  in  your 
room.  It  is  the  picture  next  to  the  one  that  has 
its  face  turned  to  the  wall." 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  Philip  stood  beside 
her.  There  was  a  mist  in  her  eyes  as  she  hold 
out  her  hand  to  him. 

"I  —  I  —  would  like  to  have  yoii- — see  that 
picture,"  she  whispered. 

Philip  could  not  speaJc.  He  held  the  hand 
Jeanne  had  given  him  as  they  passed  through 
the  long,  dimly  lighted  halls.  At  the  open  door 
to  his  room  they  stopped,  and  he  could  feel 
Jeanne  trembling. 

"You  will  tell  me — ^the  truth?"  she  begged,  like 
a  child.  "You  will  tell  me  what  you  think — 
of  the  picture?" 

"Yes." 

She  went  in  ahead  of  him  and  turned  the  frame 
so  that  the  face  in  the  picture  smiled  down  upon 
them  in  all  of  its  luring  loveliness.  There  was 
something  pathetic  in  the  girl's  attitude  now. 

220 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

She  stood  under  the  picture,  facing  Philip,  and 
there  was  a  tense  eagerness  in  her  eyes,  a  light 
that  was  almost  supplication,  a  crying  out  of 
her  soul  to  him  in  a  breathless  moment  that 
seemed  hovering  between  pain  and  joy.  It  was 
Jeanne,  an  older  Jeanne,  that  looked  from  out 
of  the  picture,  smiling,  inviting  admiration,  be- 
wildering in  her  beauty;  it  was  Jeanne,  the 
child,  waiting  for  him  in  flesh  and  blood  to 
spjeak,  her  eyes  big  and  dark,  her  breath  coming 
quickly,  her  hands  buried  in  the  deep  lace  on  her 
bosom.  A  low  word  came  to  Philip's  lip>s,  and 
then  he  laughed  softly.  It  was  a  laugh,  almost 
under  his  breath,  which  sweeps  up  now  and  then 
from  a  soul  in  a  joy — an  emotion — which  is 
unutterable  in  words.  But  to  Jeanne  it  was 
different.  Her  dark  eyes  grew  hurt  and  wounded, 
two  great  tears  ran  down  her  paling  cheeks,  and 
suddenly  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
with  a  sobbing  cry  turned  from  him,  with  her 
head  bowed  under  the  smiling  face  above. 

"And  you — ^you  hate  it,  too!"  she  sobbed. 
"They  all  hate  it — Pierre — ^father — all — all  hate 
it.  It  must — it  must  be  bad.  They  hate  her — 
every  one — ^but  me.     And — ^I  love  her  so!" 

Her  slender  form  shook  with  sobs.  For  a 
moment  Philip  stood  like  one  struck  dumb. 
Then  he  sprang  to  her  and  caught  her  close  in 
his  arms. 

"Jeanne — ^Jeanne — listen,'*  he  cried.  "To- 
night I  looked  at  that  picture  before  I  went  to 

221 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

see  your  father,  and  I  loved  it  because  it  is  like 
you.  Jeanne,  my  darling,  I  love  you — ^I  love 
you—" 

She  was  panting  against  his  breast.  He  cov- 
ered her  face  with  kisses.  Her  sweet  lips  were 
not  turned  from  him,  and  there  filled  her  eyes 
a  sudden  light  that  made  him  almost  sob  in 
his  happiness. 

"I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  he  repeated,  again 
and  again,  and  he  could  find  no  other  words 
than   those. 

For  an  instant  her  arms  clung  about  his 
shoulders,  and  then,  suddenly,  they  strained 
against  him,  and  she  tore  herself  free,  and,  with 
a  cry  so  pathetic  that  it  seemed  as  though  her 
heart  had  broken  in  that  moment,  she  fled  from 
him,  and  out  of  the  room. 


xvm 

PHILIP  stood  where  Jeanne  had  left  him,  his 
arms  half  reaching  out  to  the  vacant  door 
through  which  she  had  fled,  his  lips  parted  as  if 
to  call  her  name,  and  yet  motionless,  dumb.  A 
moment  before  he  was  intoxicated  by  a  joy  that 
was  almost  madness.  He  had  held  Jeanne  in 
his  arms;  he  had  looked  into  her  eyes,  filled  with 
surrender  under  his  caresses  and  his  avowal  of 
love.  For  a  moment  he  had  possessed  her,  and 
now  he  was  alone.  The  cry  that  had  wrung  it- 
self from  her  lips,  breaking  in  upon  his  happiness 
like  a  blow,  still  rang  in  his  ears,  and  there  was 
something  in  the  exquisite  pain  of  it  that  left 
him  in  torment.  Heart  and  soul,  every  drop  of 
blood  in  him,  had  leaped  in  the  joy  of  that 
glorious  moment,  when  Jeanne's  eyes  and  sweet 
lips  had  accepted  his  love,  and  her  arms  had 
climg  about  his  shoulders.  Now  these  things 
had  been  struck  dead  within  him.  He  felt  again 
the  fierce  pressure  of  Jeanne's  arms  as  she  had 
thrust  him  away,  he  saw  the  fright  and  torture 
that  had  leaped  into  her  eyes  as  she  sprang  from 
him,  as  though  his  touch  had  suddenly  become 
a  sacrilege.     He  lowered  his  arms  slowly,  and 

223 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

went  to  the  hall.     It  was  empty.     He  heard  no 
sound,  and  closed  the  door. 

It  was  so  still  that  he  could  hear  the  excited 
throbbing  of  his  own  heart.  He  looked  at  the 
picture  again,  and  a  strange  fancy  impressed 
him  with  the  idea  that  it  was  no  longer  smiling 
at  him,  but  that  its  eyes  were  turned  to  the  door 
through  which  Jeanne  had  disappeared.  He 
moved  his  position,  and  the  illusion  was  gone. 
It  was  Jeanne  looking  down  upon  him  again, 
an  older  and  happier  Jeanne  than  the  one  whom 
he  loved.  For  the  first  time  he  examined  it 
closely.  In  one  comer  of  the  canvas  he  found 
the  artist's  name,  Bourret,  and  after  it  the  date, 
1888.  Could  it  be  the  picture  of  Jeanne's 
mother?  He  told  himself  that  it  was  impossible, 
for  Jeanne's  mother  had  been  found  dead  in 
the  snow,  five  years  later  than  the  date  of  the 
canvas,  and  Pierre,  the  haK-breed,  had  buried 
her  somewhere  out  on  the  barren,  so  that  she 
was  a  mystery  to  all  but  him.  Even  the  master 
of  Fort  o'  God,  to  whom  he  had  brought  the 
child,  had  never  seen  the  woman  upon  whose 
cold  breast  Pierre  had  found  the  little  Jeanne. 
,  With  nervous  hands  he  replaced  the  picture 
with  its  face  to  the  wall,  and  began  to  pace  up 
and  down  the  room,  wondering  if  D'Arcambal 
would  send  for  him.  He  had  hope  of  seeing 
Jeanne  again  that  night.  He  felt  sure  that  she 
had  gone  to  her  room,  and  that  even  D'Arcam- 
bal might  not  know  that  he  was  alone.     In  that 

804 


fl;ower  of  the  north 

event  he  had  a  long  night  ahead  of  him,  filled 
with  hours  of  sleeplessness  and  torment.  He 
waited  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  and  then 
the  idea  came  to  him  that  he  might  discover 
some  plausible  excuse  for  seeking  out  his  host. 
He  was  about  to  act  upon  this  mental  suggestion 
when  he  heard  a  low  rustling  in  the  hall,  fol- 
lowed by  a  distinct  and  yet  timid  knock.  It 
was  not  a  man's  knock,  and  filled  with  the  hope 
that  Jeanne  had  returned,  Philip  hastened  to 
the  door  and  opened  it. 

He  heard  soft  footsteps  retreating  rapidly 
down  the  hall,  but  the  lights  were  out,  and  he 
could  see  nothing.  Something  had  fallen  at  his 
feet,  and  he  bent  down  to  pick  it  up.  The  ob- 
ject was  a  small,  square  enveloj)e;  and  re-enter- 
ing his  room  he  saw  his  own  name  written  across 
it  in  Jeanne's  delicate  hand.  His  heart  beat 
with  hope  as  be  opened  the  note.  What  he 
read  brought  a  gray  paJlor  into  his  face: 

Monsieur  PHn.rp, — If  you  cannot  forget  what  I 
have  done,  please  at  least  try  to  forgive  me.  No 
woman  in  the  world  could  value  your  love  more  than 
I,  for  circumstances  have  proven  to  me  the  strength 
and  honor  of  the  man  who  ^ves  it.  And  yet  it  is  as 
impossible  for  me  to  accept  it  as  it  would  be  for  me 
to  give  up  Fort  o'  God,  my  father,  or  my  life,  though 
I  cannot  tell  you  why.  And  this,  I  know,  you  will 
not  ask.  After  what  has  happened  to-night  it  will 
be  impossible  for  me  to  see  you  again,  and  I  must 
ask  you,  as  one  who  values  your  friendship  among 

OB 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

the  highest  things  in  my  life,  to  leave  Fort  o'  God, 
No  one  must  know  what  has  passed  between  us. 
You  will  go — ^in  the  morning.  And  with  you  there 
will  always  be  my  prayers. 

Jeanne. 

The  paper  dropped  from  between  Philip's 
fingers  and  fell  to  the  floor.  Three  or  four  times 
in  his  life  Philip  had  received  blows  that  had 
made  him  sick — ^physical  blows.  He  felt  now  as 
though  one  of  these  blows  had  descended  upon 
him,  turning  things  black  before  his  eyes.  He 
staggered  to  the  big  chair  and  dropped  into  it, 
staring  at  the  bit  of  white  paper  on  the  floor. 
If  one  had  spoken  to  him  he  would  not  have 
heard.  Gregson,  in  these  moments,  might  have 
laughed  a  little  nervously,  smoked  innumerable 
cigarettes,  and  laid  plans  for  a  continuance  of 
the  battle  to-morrow.  But  Philip  was  a  fighter 
of  men,  and  not  of  women.  He  had  declared 
his  love,  he  had  laid  open  his  soul  to  Jeanne, 
and  to  a  heart  like  his  own,  simple  in  its  lan- 
guage, boundless  in  its  sincerity,  this  was  all 
that  could  be  done.  Jeanne's  refusal  of  his  love 
was  the  end — ^for  him.  He  accepted  his  fate 
without  argument.  In  an  instant  he  would  have 
fought  ten  men— a  hundred,  naked-handed,  if 
such  a  fight  would  have  given  him  a  chance  of 
winning  Jeanne;  he  would  have  died,  laughing, 
happy,  if  it  had  been  in  a  struggle  for  her.  But 
Jeanne  herself  had  dealt  Piim  the  blow. 

For  a  long  time  he  sat  motionless  in  the  chair, 

226 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

facing  the  picture  on  the  wall.  Then  he  rose  to 
his  feet,  picked  up  the  note,  and  went  to  one  of 
the  little  square  windows  that  looked  out  into 
the  night.  The  moon  had  risen,  and  the  sky 
was  full  of  stars.  He  knew  that  he  was  looking 
into  the  north,  for  the  pale  shimmer  of  the 
aurora  was  in  his  face.  He  saw  the  black  edge 
of  the  spruce  forest;  the  barren  stretched  out, 
pale  and  ghostly,  into  the  night  shadows. 

tie  made  an  effort  to  open  the  window,  but  it 
was  wedged  tightly  in  its  heavy  sill.  He  crossed 
the  room,  opened  the  door,  and  went  silently 
down  the  hall  to  the  door  through  which  Pierre 
had  led  him  a  few  hours  before.  It  was  not 
locked,  and  he  passed  out  into  the  night.  The 
fresh  air  was  like  a  tonic,  and  he  walked  swiftly 
out  into  the  moonlit  spaces,  until  he  found  him- 
self in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  Sun  Rock  that 
towered  like  a  sentinel  giant  above  his  head. 
He  made  his  way  around  its  huge  base,  and  then 
stopped,  close  to  where  they  had  landed  in  the 
canoe.  There  was  another  canoe  drawn  up  be- 
side Pierre's,  and  two  figures  stood  out  clear  in 
the  moonlight. 

One  of  these  was  a  man,  the  other  a  woman, 
and  as  Philip  stopped,  wondering  at  the  scene, 
the  man  advanced  to  the  woman  and  caught  her 
m  his  embrace.  He  heard  a  voice,  low  and  ex- 
postulating, which  sounded  like  OtiUe's,  and  in 
spite  of  his  own  misery  Philip  smiled  at  this 
other  love  which  had  found  its  way  to  Fort  o* 

227 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

God.  He  turned  back  softly,  leaving  the  lovers 
as  he  had  found  them;  but  he  had  scarce  taken 
half  a  dozen  steps  when  he  heard  other  steps, 
and  saw  that  the  girl  had  left  her  companion 
and  was  hurrying  toward  him.  He  drew  back 
close  into  the  shadow  of  the  rock  to  avoid  pos- 
sible discovery,  and  the  girl  passed  through  the 
moonlight  almost  within  arm's-reach  of  him.  In 
that  moment  his  heart  ceased  to  beat.  He 
choked  back  the  groaning  cry  that  rose  to  his 
lips.  It  was  not  Otilie  who  pasted  him.  It 
was  Jeanne. 

In  another  moment  she  was  gone.  The  man 
had  shoved  his  canoe  into  the  narrow  stream, 
and  was  already  lost  in  the  gloom.  Then,  and 
not  imtn  then,  did  the  cry  of  torture  fall  from 
Philip.  And  as  if  in  echo  to  it  he  heard  the  sob- 
bing break  of  another  voice,  and  stepping  out 
into  the  moonlight  he  stood  face  to  face  with 
Pierre  Couchee. 

It  was  Pierre  who  spoke  first. 
"I  am  sorry,  M'siem*,"  he  whispered,  hoarsely. 
"I  know  that  it  has  broken  your  heart.     And 
mine,  too,  is  crushed." 

Something  in  the  half-breed's  face,  in  the 
choking  utterance  of  his  voice,  struck  Philip 
as  new  and  strange.  He  had  seen  the  eyes  of 
dying  animals  filled  with  the  wild  pain  that 
glowed  in  Pierre's,  and  suddenly  he  reached  out 
and  gripped  the  other's  hand,  and  they  stood 
staring  into  each  other's  face.      In  that  look, 

298 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

the  cold  grip  of  their  hands,  the  strife  in  their 
eyes,  the  bare  truth  revealed  itself. 

"And  you,  too — ^you  love  her,  Pierre,"  said 
Philip. 

"Yes,  I  love  her,  M'sieur,"  replied  Pierre, 
softly.  "I  love  her,  not  as  a  brother,  but  as  a 
man  whose  heart  is  brcJien." 

"Now — ^I  understand,"  said  Philip. 
•  He  dropp>ed  Pierre's  hand,  and  his  voic«  was 
cold  and  lifeless. 

"I  received  a  note — ^from  her,  asking  me  to 
leave  Fort  o'  God  in  the  morning,"  he  went  on, 
looking  from  Pierre  out  beyond  the  rock  into 
the  white  barren.     "I  wiQ  go  to-night." 

"It  is  best,"  said  Pierre. 

"I  have  left  nothing  in  Fort  o*  God,  so  there 
is  no  need  of  even  retunaing  to  my  room,"  con- 
tinued Philip.  "Jeanne  will  imderstand,  but 
you  must  tell  her  father  that  a  messenger  came 
suddenly  from  Blind  Indian  Lake,  and  that  I 
thought  it  best  to  leave  without  awakening  him. 
Will  you  guide  me  for  a  part  of  the  distance, 
Pierre?" 

"I  will  'go  with  you  the  whole  way,  M'sicur. 
It  is  only  twenty  miles,  ten  by  canoe,  ten  by 
;  land." 

They  said  no  more,  but  both  went  to  the 
canoe,  and  were  quickly  lost  in  the  gloom  into 
which  the  other  canoe  had  disappeared  a  few 
minutes  ahead  of  them.  They  saw  nothing  oi 
this  canoe,  and  when  they  came  to  the  Churchill 

229 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Pierre  headed  the  birch-bark  down-stream.  For 
two  hours  not  a  word  passed  between  them.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  the  half-breed  turned  in  to 
shore. 

"We  take  the  trail  here,  M'sieur,"  he_  ex- 
plained. 

He  went  on  ahead,  walking  swiftly,  and  now 
and  then  when  Philip  caught  a  glimpse  of  his 
face  he  saw  in  it  a  despair  as  great  as  his  own. 
The  trail  led  along  the  backbone  of  a  huge  ridge, 
and  then  twisted  down  into  a  broad  plain;  and 
across  this  they  traveled,  one  after  the  other, 
two  moving,  silent  shadows  in  a  desolation  that 
seemed  without  end.  Beyond  the  plain  there 
rose  another  ridge,  and  half  an  hour  after  they 
had  struck  the  top  of  it  Pierre  halted,  and 
pointed  off  into  the  ghostly  world  of  Hght  and 
shadow  that  lay  at  their  feet. 

"Your  camp  is  on  the  other  side  of  this  plain, 
M'sieur,"  he  said.  "Do  you  recognize  the 
country?" 

"I   have  hunted   along   this   ridge,"   replied 
Philip.     "It  is  only  three  miles  from  here,  and 
I  will  strike  a  beaten  trail  half  a  mile  out  yonder,] 
A  thousand  thanks,  Pierre." 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good-by,  M'sieur." 

'"Good-by,  Pierre." 

Their  voices  trembled.  Their  hands  gripped 
hard.  A  choking  lump  rose  in  Philip's  throat, 
and  Pierre  turned  away.    He  disappeared  slow- 

230 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

ly  in  the  gray  gloom,  and  Philip  went  down  the 
side  of  the  mountain.  From  the  plain  below  he 
looked  back.  For  an  instant  he  saw  Pierre, 
drawn  like  a  silhouette  against  the  sky. 

**Good-by,  Pierre,"  he  shouted. 

"Good-by,  M'sieur,"  came  back  faintly. 

Night  and  silence  dropped  about  them. 


'XIX 

To  be  alone,  even  after  the  painful  parting 
with  Pierre,  was  in  one  way  a  relief  to 
Philip,  for  with  the  disappearance  of  the  lonely 
half-breed  over  the  mountain  there  had  gone 
from  him  the  last  physical  association  that  bound 
him  to  Jeanne  and  her  people.  With  Pierre  at 
his  side,  Jeanne  was  still  with  him;  but  now  that 
Pierre  was  gone  there  came  a  change  in  him — 
one  of  those  unaccountable  transmutations  of 
the  mind  which  make  the  passing  of  yesterdays 
more  like  a  short  dream  than  a  long  and  full 
reality.  He  walked  slowly  over  the  plain,  and, 
when  he  came  to  the  trail  beaten  by  the  hoofs 
of  his  own  teams  he  followed  it  mechanically. 
In  his  measurement  of  things  now,  it  seemed 
only  a  few  hours  since  he  had  traveled  over  this 
trail  on  his  way  to  Fort  Churchill;  it  might  have 
been  that  morning,  or  the  morning  before.  The 
weeks  of  his  absence  had  passed  with  marvelous 
swiftness,  now  that  he  looked  back  upon  them. 
They  seemed  short  and  trivial.  And  yet  he 
knew  that  in  those  weeks  he  had  lived  more  of 
his  life  than  he  had  ever  lived  before,  or  would 
ever  live  again.     For  a  brief  spell  life  had  been. 

isst 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

filled  with  joy  and  hope — a  promise  of  happa- 
ness  which  a  single  moment  in  the  shadow  of 
the  Sun  Rock  had  destroyed  forever.  He  had 
seen  Jeanne  in  another  man's  arms;  he  had  read 
the  confirmation  of  his  fears  in  Pierre's  grief-dis- 
torted face,  in  the  strange  tremble  of  his  voice, 
in  the  words  that  he  had  spoken.  He  was  sorry 
for  Pierre.  He  would  have  been  glad  if  that 
other  man  had  been  the  lovable  half -breed;  if 
Jeanne,  in  the  poetry  of  life  and  love,  had  given 
herself  to  the  one  who  had  saved  the  spark  of 
life  in  her  chilled  little  body  years  and  years 
ago.  And  yet  in  his  own  grief  he  unconsciously 
rejoiced  that  it  was  a  man  like  Pierre  who  suf- 
fered with  him. 

This  thought  of  Pierre  strengthened  him,  and 
he  walked  faster,  and  breathed  more  deeply  of 
the  clear  night  air.  He  had  lost  in  the  fight  for 
Jeanne  as  he  had  lost  in  many  other  fights;  but, 
after  all,  there  was  another  and  bigger  fight 
ahead  of  him,  which  he  would  begin  to-morrow. 
Thoughts  of  his  men,  of  his  camps,  and  of  this 
struggle  through  which  he  must  pass  to  achieve 
success  raised  him  above  his  depression,  and 
stirred  his  blood  with  a  growing  exhilaration. 
And  Jeanne — was  she  hopelessly  lost  to  him?  He 
dared  to  ask  himself  the  question  half  an  hour 
after  he  had  separated  from  Pierre,  and  his  mind 
flew  back  to  the  portrait-room  where  he  had  told 
Jeanne  of  his  love,  and  where  for  a  moment  he 
had  seen  in  her  eyes  and  face  the  sweet  surrender 
16  283 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

that  had  given  him  a  glimpse  of  his  paradise. 
But  what  did  the  sudden  changt  mean?  And 
after  that — ^the  scene  in  the  starHght? 

A  quickening  of  his  pulse  was  the  amwer  to 
these  questions.  Jeanne  had  told  him  there 
were  only  two  men  at  Fort  o'  God,  Pierre  and 
her  father.  Then  who  could  be  this  third.?  A. 
lover,  whom  she  met  clandestinely?  He  shiv-^ 
ered,  and  began  loading  his  pipe  as  he  walked. 
He  was  certain  that  the  master  of  Fort  o'  God 
did  not  know  of  the  tryst  beyond  the  rock,  and 
he  was  equally  certain  that  the  girl  was  unaware 
of  Pierre's  knowledge  of  the  meetmg.  Pierre 
had  remained  hidden,  like  himself,  and  he  had 
given  Philip  to  understand  that  it  was  not  the 
first  time  he  had  looked  upon  the  meetmgs  of 
Jeanne  and  the  man  they  had  seen  from  the 
shadow  of  the  rock.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all 
evidence,  he  could  not  lose  faith  in  Jeanne. 

Suddenly  he  saw  something  ahead  of  him 
which  changed  for  a  moment  the  uncomfortable 
trend  of  his  thoughts.  It  was  a  pale  streak, 
rising  above  the  level  of  the  trail,  and  stretching 
diagonally  across  the  plain  to  the  east.  With 
an  exclamation  of  surprise  Philip  hastened  his 
steps,  and  a  moment  later  stood  among  the 
fresh  workings  of  his  men.  When  he  had  left 
for  Churchil  this  streak,  which  was  the  last 
stretch  of  road-bed  between  them  and  the  sur- 
veyed line  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Railway,  had 
ended  two  miles  to  the  south  and  west.     In  a 

234 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

little  over  a  month  MacDougall  had  pushed  it 
on  the  trail,  and  well  across  it  in  the  direction 
of  Gray  Beaver  Lake.  In  that  time  he  had  ac- 
complished a  work  which  Philip  had  not  thought 
possible  to  achieve  that  autumn.  He  had  fig-, 
ured  that  the  heavy  snows  of  winter  would  cut 
them  off  at  the  trail.  And  MacDougall  was 
beyond  the  trail,  with  three  weeks  to  spare! 

Something  rose  up  in  his  blood,  warming  him 
with  an  elation  which  sent  him  walking  swiftly 
toward  the  end  of  the  road-bed.  A  quarter  of 
a  mile  out  on  the  plain  he  came  to  the  working 
end.  About  him  were  scattered  half  a  dozen 
big  scoop  shovels  and  piles  of  working  tools. 
The  embers  of  a  huge  log  fire  still  glowed  where 
dinner  had  been  cooked  for  the  men.  Philip 
stood  for  a  few  moments,  looking  off  into  the( 
distance.  Another  mile  and  a  half  out  there 
was  the  Gray  Beaver,  and  from  the  Gray  Beaver 
there  lay  the  unbroken  waterway  to  the  point 
of  their  conjunction  with  the  railway  coming 
up  from  the  south.  A  sudden  idea  occurred  to 
Philip.  If  MacDougall  had  built  two  and  a 
quarter  miles  of  road-bed  in  five  weeks  they 
could  surely  complete  this  other  mile  and  a  half 
before  winter  stopped  them.  Li  that  event, 
they  would  have  fifteen  miles  of  road,  linking 
seven  lakes,  which  would  give  them  a  splendid 
winter  trail  for  men,  teams,  and  dogs  to  the 
Gray  Beaver.  And  from  the  Gray  Beaver  they 
would  have  smooth  ice  for  twenty  miles,  to  the^ 

iss 


'FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

new  road.  He  had  not  planned  to  begin  fishing 
operations  until  spring,  but  he  could  see  no  rea- 
son now  why  they  should  not  commence  that 
winter,  setting  tlieir  nets  through  the  ice.  At 
Lobstick  Creek,  where  the  new  road  would 
reach  them  sometime  in  April  or  May,  they 
could  freeze  their  fish  and  keep  them  in  storage. 
Five  himdred  tons  in  stock,  and  perhapa  a 
thousand,  would  not  be  a  bad  beginning.  It 
would  mean  from  forty  to  eighty  thousand  dol- 
lars, a  half  of  which  could  be  paid  out  in  divi- 
dends. 

He  turned  back,  whistling  softly.  There  was 
new  life  in  him,  binning  for  action.  He  was 
eager  to  see  MacDougall,  and  he  hoped  that 
Brokaw  would  not  be  long  in  reaching  Blind 
Indian  Lake.  Before  he  reached  the  trail  he 
was  planning  the  accommodation  stations,  where 
men  and  animals  could  find  shelter.  There 
would  be  one  on  the  shore  of  the  Gray  Beaver, 
and  from  there  he  would  build  them  at  regular 
intervals  of  five  miles  on  the  ice. 

He  had  come  to  the  trail,  and  was  about  to 
turn  in  the  direction  of  the  camp,  when  he  saw 
a  shadowy  figure  making  its  way  slowly  across 
the  plain  which  he  had  traversed  half  an  hour 
before.  The  manner  in  which  this  person  was 
following  in  his  footsteps,  apparently  with  ex- 
treme caution,  caused  Philip  to  move  quickly 
behind  the  embankment  of  the  road-bed.  Two 
or  three  minutes  later  a  man  crossed  into  view. 

236 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Phflip  could  not  see  his  face  distinctly,  but  by 
the  tired  droop  of  the  stranger's  shoulders  and 
his  shuffling  walk  he  guessed  that  what  he  had 
first  taken  for  caution  was  in  reality  the  tedious 
progress  of  a  man  nearing  exhaustion.  He  won- 
dered how  he  had  missed  him  in  his  own  journey 
over  the  trail  from  the  ridge  mountains,  for 
he  had  made  twice  the  progress  of  the  stranger, 
and  must  surely  have  passed  him  somewhere 
within  the  last  mile  or  so.  The  fact  that  the 
man  had  come  from  the  direction  of  Fort  o'  God, 
that  he  was  exhausted,  and  that  he  had  evident- 
ly concealed  himself  a  little  way  back  to  avoid 
discovery,  led  Philip  to  cut  out  diagonally  across 
the  plain  so  that  he  could  follow  him  and  keep 
him  in  sight  without  being  observed.  Twice 
in  the  next  mile  the  nocturnal  traveler  stopped 
to  rest,  but  no  sooner  had  he  reached  the  first 
scattered  shacks  of  the  camp  than  he  quickened 
his  steps,  darting  quickly  among  the  shadows, 
and  then  stopped  at  last  before  the  door  of  a 
small  log  cabin  within  a  pistol-shot  of  Philip's 
own  headquarters.  The  cabin  was  newly  built, 
and  Philip  gave  a  low  whistle  of  surprise  as  he 
noted  its  location.  He  had,  to  a  certain  de- 
gree, isolated  his  own  camp  home,  building  it  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  back  from  the  shore  of 
the  lake,  where  most  of  the  other  cabins  were 
erected.  This  new  cabin  was  still  a  hundred 
yards  farther  back,  half  hidden  in  a  growth  of 
spruce.    He  heard  the  click  of  a  key  in  a  lock 

287 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

and  the  opening  and  closing  of  a  door.  A  mo* 
ment  later  a  light  flared  dimly  against  a  cm*- 
tained  window. 

Philip  hmried  across  the  open  to  the  cabin 
occupied  by  himself  and  MacDougall,  the  en- 
gineer. He  tried  the  door,  but  it  was  barred. 
Then  he  knocked  loudly,  and  continued  knock- 
ing until  a  light  appeared  within.  He  heard 
the  Scotchman's  voice,  close  to  the  door. 
*' Who's  there?"  it  demanded. 
"None  of  your  business!"  retorted  Philip, 
falling  into  the  error  of  a  joke  at  the  welcome 
sound  of  MacDougall's  voice.     "Open  up!" 

A  bar  slipped  within.  The  door  opened  slow- 
ly. Philip  thrust  himself  against  it  and  entered. 
In  the  pale  light  of  the  lamp  he  was  confronted 
by  the  red  face  of  MacDougall,  and  a  pair  of 
little  eyes  that  gleamed  menacingly.  And  cm  a 
line  with  MacDougall's  face  was  an  ugly-look, 
ing  revolver. 

Philip  stopped  with  a  sudden  uncomfortable 
thrill.     MacDougall  lowered  his  gun. 

"Lord  preserve  us,  but  that's  the  time  yo» 
almost  drew  a  perforation!"  he  exclaimed.  "It 
isn't  safe  to  cut-up  in  these  diggings  any  more— 
not  with  Sandy  MacDougall!" 
.  He  held  out  a  hand  with  a  relieved  laugh,  and 
ithe  two  men  shook  in  a  grip  that  made  their 
'fingers  ache. 

"Is  this  the  way  you  welcome  all  of  yout 
iFriends,  Mac?" 

238 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

MacDougall  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laid 
his  gun  on  a  table  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

"  Can't  say  that  I've  got  a  friend  left  in  camp,'* 
he  said,  with  a  curious  grimace.  "What  in 
thunder  do  you  mean,  Phil?  I've  tried  to  rea- 
son something  out  of  it,  but  I  can't!" 

Philip  was  hanging  up  his  cap  and  coat  on  one^, 
of  a  number  of  wooden  pegs  driven  into  the  long^ 
wall.     He  turned  quickly. 

"Reason  something  out  of  what?"  he  said. 

"Your  instructions  from  Churchill,"  replied 
MacDougall,  picking  up  a  big,  black-bowled 
pipe  from  the  table. 

Philip  sat  down  with  a  restful  sigh,  crossed  his 
legs,  loaded  his  pipe,  and  lighted  it. 

"Thought  I  made  myself  lucid  enough,  even 
for  a  Scotchman,  Sandy,"  he  said.  "I  learned 
at  Churchill  that  the  big  fight  is  going  to  be 
pulled  off  mighty  soon.  It's  about  time  for  the 
fireworks.  So  I  told  you  to  put  the  sub-camps 
in  fighting  shape,  and  arm  every  responsible  man 
in  this  camp.  There's  going  to  be  a  whole  lot 
of  gun -work  before  you're  many  days  older. 
Great  Scott,  man,  don't  you  understand  nowf 
What's  the  matter?" 

MacDougall  was  staring  at  him  as  if  struck 
dumb. 

"You  told  me — to  arm — the  camps?"  he 
gasped. 

"Yes,  I  sent  you  full  instructions  two  weeks 
ago." 

239 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

MacDougall  tapped  his  forehead  suspicioiLSij?^ 
with  a  stubby  forefinger. 

"You're  mad — or  trying  to  pull  off  a  poor 
brand  of  joke!"  he  exclaimed.  "If  you're 
dreaming,  come  out  of  it.  Look  here,  PhU,"  he 
cried,  a  little  heatedly,  "I've  been  having  a  hell 
of  a  time  since  you  left  the  camp,  and  I  want 
to  talk  seriously." 

It  was  Philip  who  stared  now.  He  fairly 
thrust  himself  upon  the  engineer. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  didn't  get  my  let- 
ter telling  you  to  put  the  camps  in  fighting 
shape?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  get  it,"  said  MacDougall.  "  But 
I  got  the  other." 

"There  was  no  other!" 

MacDougall  jumped  to  his  feet,  darted  to  his 
bunk,  and  came  back  a  moment  later  with  a 
letter.  He  thrust  it  almost  fiercely  into  Philip's 
hands.  A  sweat  broke  out  upon  his  face  as  he 
saw  its  effect  upon  his  companion.  Philip's  face 
was  deadly  pale  when  he  looked  up  from  the 
letter. 

"My  God!  you  haven't  done  this?"  he  gasped. 

"What  else  could  I  do?"  demanded  Mac- 
Dougall. "It's  down  there  in  black  and  white, 
isn't  it?  It  charges  me  to  outfit  six  prospecting 
parties  of  ten  men  each,  arm  every  man  with  a 
rifle  and  revolver,  victual  them  for  two  months, 
and  send  them  to  the  points  named  there.  That 
letter  came  ten  days  ago,  and  the  last  party, 

240 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

under  Tom  Billinger,  has  been  gone  a  week. 
You  told  me  to  send  your  very  best  men,  and 
I  have.  It  has  fairly  stripped  the  camp  of  the 
men  we  depended  upon,  and  there  are  hardly 
enough  guns  left  to  kill  meat  with." 

"I  didn't  write  this  letter,"  said  Philip,  look- 
ing hard  at  MacDougall.  "The  signature  is  a 
fraud.  The  letter  which  I  sent  to  you,  revealing 
my  discoveries  at  Churchill,  has  been  inter- 
cepted and  replaced  by  this.  Do  you  know 
what  it  means.'^" 

MacDougall  was  speechless.  His  square  jaw 
was  set  like  an  iron  clamp,  his  heavy  hands 
doubled  into  knots  on  his  knees. 

"It  means— fight,"  contmued  Philip.  "To- 
night—  to-morrow  —  at  any  moment  now.  I 
can't  guess  why  the  blow  hasn't  fallen  before 
this." 

He  qmckly  related  to  MacDougall  the  chief 
facts  he  had  gathered  at  Fort  Churchill.  When 
he  had  finished,  the  young  Scotchman  reached 
over  to  the  table,  seized  his  revolver,  and  held 
the  butt  end  of  it  out  to  Philip. 

"Pump  me  full  of  lead — ^for  God's  sake,  do, 
Phil,"  he  pleaded. 

Philip  laughed,  and  gripped  his  hand. 

"Not  while  I  need  a  few  fighters  like  yourself, 
Sandy,"  he  objected.  "We're  on  to  the  game 
in  time.  By  to-morrow  morning  we'll  be  pre- 
pared for  the  war.  We  haven't  an  hour — per- 
haps not  a  minute — to  lose.    How  many  men 

241 


FLOWER   OP    THE    NORTH 

can  you  get  hold  of  to-night  whom  we  can  de- 
pend upon  to  fight?" 

"Ten  or  a  dozen,  no  more.  The  road  gang 
that  we  were  expecting  up  from  the  Grand 
Trunk  Pacific  came  three  days  after  you  started 
for  Churchill — twenty-eight  of  'em.  They're  a 
tough-looking  outfit,  but  devilish  good  workers. 
I  believe  you  could  hire  that  gang  to  do  anything. 
They  won't  take  a  word  from  me.  It's  all  up 
to  Thorpe,  the  foreman  who  brought  'em  up, 
and  they  won't  obey  an  order  unless  it  comes 
through  him.  Thorpe  could  get  them  to  fight, 
but  they  haven't  anything  to  fight  with,  except 
a  few  knives.  I've  got  eight  guns  left,  and  I 
can  scrape  up  eight  men  who  '11  handle  them 
for  the  glory  of  it.  Thorpe's  gang  would  be 
mighty  handy  in  close  quarters,  if  it  came  to 
that." 

MacDougall  moved  restlessly,  and  ran  a  hand 
through  his  tawny  hair. 

"I  almost  wish  we  hadn't  invited  that  bunch 
up  here,"  he  added.  "They  look  to  me  like  a 
lot  of  dollar  thugs,  but  they  work  like  horses. 
Never  saw  such  men  with  the  shovel  and  pick. 
And  fight?  They've  cleaned  up  on  a  half  of 
the  men  in  camp.     If  we  can  get  Thorpe — " 

"We'll  see  him  to-night,"  interrupted  Philip. 
**0r  to  be  correct,  this  morning.  It's  one 
o'clock.  How  long  will  it  take  to  round  up  our 
best  men?" 

"Half  an  hour,"  said  MacDougall,  promptly, 

242 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

jumping  to  his  feet.  "There  are  Roberts,  Hen- 
shaw,  Tom  Cassidy,  Lecault,  the  Frenchman, 
and  the  two  St.  Pierre  brothers.  They're  all 
crack  gun-men.  Give  'em  each  an  automatic 
and  they're  worth  twenty  ordinary  men." 

A  few  moments  later  MacDougall  extinguished 
the  light,  and  the  two  men  left  the  cabin.  Philip 
drew  his  companion's  attention  to  the  dimly 
lighted  window  of  the  cabin  to  which  he  had  fol* 
lowed  the  stranger  a  short  time  before. 

"That's  Thorpe's,"  said  the  young  engineer. 
"I  haven't  seen  him  since  morning.  Guess  he 
must  be  up." 

"We'll  sound  him  first,"  said  Philip,  starting 
off. 

At  MacDougall's  knock  there  was  a  moment's 
silence  inside,  then  heavy  footsteps,  and  the 
door  was  flung  open.  Sandy  entered,  followed 
by  Philip.  Thorpe  stepped  back.  He  was  of 
medium  height,  yet  so  athletically  bmlt  that  he 
gave  the  impression  of  being  two  inches  taller 
than  he  actually  was.  He  was  smooth-shaven, 
and  his  hair  and  eyes  were  black.  His  whole 
appearance  was  that  of  a  person  infinitely  su- 
perior to  what  Philip  had  expected  to  find  in 
the  gang  -  foreman.  His  first  words,  and  the 
manner  in  which  they  were  spoken,  added  to 
this  impression. 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen." 
<     **Good  morning,"  replied  MacDougall,  nod- 
ding toward  Philip.    "This  is  Mr.  Whittemore, 

243 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Thorpe.     We  saw  your  light,  and  thought  you 
wouldn't  mind  a  call." 

Philip  and  Thorpe  shook  hands. 
"Just  in  time  to  have  a  cup  of  coffee,"  in- 
vited Thorpe,  pleasantly,  motioning  toward  a 
steaming  pot  on  the  stove.  "I  just  got  in  from 
a  long  hike  out  over  the  new  road-bed.  Been 
looking  the  ground  over  along  the  north  shore 
of  the  Gray  Beaver,  and  was  so  interested  that 
I  didn't  start  for  home  until  dark.  Won't  you 
draw  up,  gentlemen?  There  are  mighty  few  who 
can  beat  me  at  making  coffee." 

MacDougall  had  noted  a  sudden  change  in 
Philip's  face,  and  as  Thorpe  hastened  to  lift  the 
over-boiling  pot  from  the  stove  he  saw  his  chief 
make  a  quick  movement  toward  a  small  table, 
and  pick  up  an  object  which  looked  Uke  a  bit  of 
cloth.  In  an  instant  Philip  had  hidden  it  in 
the  palm  of  his  hand.  A  flush  leaped  into  his 
cheeks.  A  strange  fire  burned  m  his  eyes  when 
Thorpe  turned. 

"I'm  afraid  we  can't  accept  your  hospitality," 
he  said.  "I'm  tired,  and  want  to  get  to  bed. 
In  passing,  however,  I  couldn't  refrain  from 
dropping  in  to  compliment  you  on  the  remarkable 
work  your  men  are  doing  out  on  the  plain.  It's 
splendid." 

"They're  good  men,"  said  Thorpe,  quietly. 
"Pretty  wild,  but  good  workers." 

He  followed  them  to  the  door.  Outside, Philip's 
*Qice  trembled  when  he  spoke  to  MacDougall. 

%4A 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"You  go  for  the  others,  and  bring  them  to  the 
office,  Sandy,"  he  said.  "I  said  nothing  to 
Thorpe  because  I  have  no  confidence  in  liars, 
and  Thorpe  is  a  liar.  He  was  not  out  to  the 
Gray  Beaver  to-day;  for  I  saw  him  when  he 
came  in — from  the  opposite  direction.  He  is 
a  liar,  and  he  will  bear  watching.  Mind  that, 
Sandy.  Keep  your  eyes  on  this  man  Thorpe. 
And  keep  your  eyes  on  his  gang.  Hustle  the 
others  over  to  the  office  as  soon  as  you  can." 

They  separated,  and  Philip  returned  to  the 
cabin  which  they  had  left  a  few  minutes  before. 
He  relighted  the  lamp,  and  with  a  sharp  gasp 
in  his  breath  held  out  before  his  eyes  the  object 
which  he  had  taken  from  Thorpe's  table.  He 
knew  now  why  Thorpe  had  come  from  over 
the  mountains  that  night,  why  he  was  ex- 
hausted, and  why  he  had  lied.  He  clasped  his 
head  between  his  hands,  scarcely  believing  the 
evidence  of  his  eyes.  A  deeper  breath,  almost 
a  moan,  fell  from  his  twisted  lips.  For  he  had 
discovered  that  Thorpe,  the  gang-foreman,  was 
Jeanne's  lover.  In  his  hand  he  held  the  dainty 
handkerchief,  embroidered  in  blue,  which  he 
had  seen  in  Jeanne's  j>ossession  earlier  that 
evening — crumpled  and  discolored,  still  damp 
with  her  tears! 


XX 

FOR  many  minutes  Philip  did  not  move,  or 
look  from  the  bit  of  damp  fabric  which  he 
held  between  his  fingers.  His  heart  was  chilled. 
He  felt  sick.  Each  moment  added  to  the  emo- 
tion which  was  growing  in  him,  an  emotion 
which  was  a  composite  of  disgust  and  of  anguish. 
Jeanne  —  Thorpe!  An  eternity  of  difference 
seemed  to  lie  between  those  two — Jeanne,  with 
her  tender  beauty,  her  sweet  life,  her  idyllic 
dreams,  and  Thorpe,  the  gang-driver!  In  his 
own  soul  he  had  made  a  shrine  for  Jeanne,  and 
from  his  knees  he  had  looked  up  at  her,  filled 
with  the  knowledge  of  his  own  imworthiness. 
He  had  worshiped  her,  as  Dante  might  have 
worshiped  Beatrice.  To  him  she  was  the  cul- 
mination of  all  that  was  sweet  and  lovable  in 
woman,  transcendently  above  him.  And  from 
this  love,  this  worship  of  his,  she  had  gone  that 
very  night  to  Thorpe,  the  gang-man.  He  shiv- 
ered. Going  to  the  stove  he  thrust  in  a  handful 
of  paper,  dropped  the  handkerchief  in  with  it, 
and  set  the  whole  on  fire. 

A  few  moments  later  the  door  opened  and  Mac- 
Dougall  came  in.     He  was  followed  by  the  two 

246 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

swarthy-faced  St.  Pierres,  the  camp  huntsmen. 
Philip  shook  hands  with  them,  and  they  passed 
after  the  engineer  through  a  narrow  door  lead- 
ing into  a  room  which  was  known  as  the  camp 
office.  Cassidy,  Henshaw,  and  the  others  fol- 
lowed within  the  next  ten  minutes.  There  was 
not  a  man  among  them  whose  eyes  faltered  when 
Philip  put  up  his  proposition  to  them.  As  brief- 
ly as  possible  he  told  them  a  part  of  what  he  had 
previously  revealed  to  MacDougall,  and  frankly 
conceded  that  the  preservation  of  property  and 
life  in  the  camp  depended  almost  entirely  upon 
them. 

"You're  not  the  sort  of  men  to  demand  pay 
in  a  pinch  like  this,**  he  finished,  "and  that's 
just  the  reason  I've  confidence  enough  in  you 
to  ask  for  your  support.  There  are  fifty  men 
in  camp  whom  we  could  hire  to  fight,  but  I  don't 
want  hired  fighters.  I  don't  want  men  who  will 
run  at  the  crack  of  a  few  rifles,  but  men  who  are 
willing  to  die  with  their  boots  on.  I  won't  offer 
you  money  for  this,  because  I  know  you  too 
well.  But  from  this  hour  on  you're  going  to  be 
a  part  of  the  Great  Northern  Fish  and  Develop- 
ment Company,  and  as  soon  as  the  certificates 
can  be  signed  I'm  going  to  turn  over  a  hundred 
shares  of  stock  to  each  of  you.  R«nember  that 
this  isn't  pay.  It's  simply  a  selfish  scheme  of 
mine  to  make  you  a  part  of  the  company.  There 
are  eight  of  us.  Give  us  each  an  automatic  and 
I'll  wager  that  there  isn't  a  combination  in  this 

247 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

<teck  of  the  woods  strong  enough  to  do  us 
up." 

In  the  paJe  light  of  the  two  oil-lamps  the  men's 
faces  glowed  with  enthusiasm.  Cassidy  was  the 
first  to  grip  Philip's  hand  in  a  pledge  of  fealty. 

"When  hell  freezes  over,  we're  hcked,"  he 
said.     "Where's  me  automatic?" 

MacDougall  brought  in  the  guns  and  am- 
mimition. 

"In  the  morning  we  will  begin  the  erection  of 
a  new  building  close  to  this  one,"  said  Phihp. 
"There  is  no  reason  for  the  building,  but  that 
wiU  give  me  an  excuse  for  keeping  you  men  to- 
gether on  one  job,  within  fifty  feet  of  your  guns, 
which  we  can  keep  in  this  room.  Only  four  men 
need  work  at  a  shift,  and  I'll  put  Cassidy  in 
charge  of  the  operations,  if  that  is  satisfactory 
to  the  others.  We'U  have  a  couple  of  new  bunks 
put  in  here  so  that  four  men  can  stay  with 
MacDougall  and  me  every  night.  The  other 
four,  who  are  not  on  the  working  shift,  can  hunt 
not  far  from  the  camp,  and  keep  their  eyes 
peeled.     Does  that  look  good.^^" 

"Can't  be  beat,"  said  Henshaw,  throwing 
open  the  breech  of  his  gun.     "Shall  we  load.?^" 

"Yes." 

The  room  became  ominous  with  the  metallic 
click  of  loaded  cartridge  clips  and  the  hard  snap 
of  released  chambers. 

Five  minutes  later  Philip  stood  alone  with 
MacDougall.     The  loaded  rifles,   each   with   a 

«48 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

fiUed  cartridge  belt  hanging  over  the  muzzie, 
were  arranged  in  a  row  along  one  of  the  walls. 

"1*11  stake  everything  I've  got  on  those  men/* 
he  exclaimed-  "Mac,  did  it  ever  strike  you  that 
when  you^want  real  men  you  ought  to  come  north 
for  them?  Every  one  of  those  fellows  is  a 
northerner,  except  Cassidy,  and  he's  a  jSghtei? 
by  birth.  They'll  die  before  they  go  bad^  on 
their  word.** 

MacDougall  rubbed  his  hands  and  laughed 

SOltlv 

"What  next,  Phil?*' 

"We  must  send  the  swiftest  man  you*ve  got 
in  camp  after  Billinger,  and  get  word  to  the 
other  parties  you  sent  out  as  quickly  as  we  can. 
They'll  probably  get  in  too  late.  Billinger  may 
arrive  in  time." 

"He's  been  gone  a  week.  It's  doubtful  if  we 
can  get  him  back  within  three,'*  said  Mac- 
DougalL  "I'll  send  St.  Pierre's  cousin,  that 
yoimg  Crow  Feather,  after  him  as  soon  as  he 
can  get  a  pack  ready.  You'd  better  go  to  bed, 
Phil.     You  look  like  a  dead  man." 

Philip  was  not  sure  that  he  could  sleep,  not- 
withstanding the  physical  strain  he  had  been 
under  during  the  past  twenty-four  hours.  He 
was  filled  with  a  nervous  desire  for  continued 
action.  Only  action  kept  him  from  thinking 
of  Jeanne  and  Thorpe.  After  MacDougall  had 
gone  to  stir  up  young  Crow  Feather  he  undressed 
and  stretched  out  in  his  bimk,  hoping  that  the 

17  «• 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Scotchman  would  soon  return.  Not  until  he 
closed  his  eyes  did  he  realize  how  tired  he  was. 
MacDougall  came  in  an  hour  later,  and  Philip 
was  asleep.  It  was  nine  o'clock  when  he  awoke. 
He  went  to  the  cook's  shanty,  ate  a  hot  break- 
fast of  griddle-cakes  and  bacon,  drank  a  pint  of 
strong  coffee,  and  hunted  up  MacDougall. 
Sandy  was  just  coming  from  Thorpe's  house. 

"He's  a  queer  guinea,  that  Thorpe,"  said  the 
engineer,  after  their  first  greetmg.  "He  doesn't 
pretend  to  do  a  pound's  work.  Notice  his  hands 
when  you  see  him  again,  Phil.  They  look  as 
though  he  had  been  drumming  a  piano  all  his 
life.  But  love  o'  mighty,  how  he  does  make  the 
others  work.  You  want  to  go  over  and  see  his 
gang  throw  dirt." 

"That's  where  Pm  going,"  said  Philip.  "Is 
Thorpe  at  home?" 

"Just  leaving.     There  he  is  now!" 

At  MacDougall's  whistle  Thorpe  turned  and 
waited  for  Philip. 

"Goin'  over?"  he  asked,  pleasantly,  when 
Philip  came  up. 

"Yes.  I  want  to  see  how  your  men  work 
without  a  leader,"  replied  Phihp.  He  paused 
for  a  moment  to  Hght  his  pipe,  and  pointed  to 
a  group  of  men  down  on  the  lake  shore.  "See 
that  gang?"  he  asked.  "  They're  buildmg  a  scow. 
Take  away  their  foreman  and  they  wouldn't  be 
worth  their  grub.  They're  men  we  brought  up 
from  Winnipeg." 

250 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

Thorpe  was  rolling  a  cigarette.  Under  his 
arm  he  held  a  pair  of  Hght  gloves. 

"Mine  are  different,"  he  laughed,  quietly. 

"I  know  that,"  rejoined  Philip,  watching  the 
skill  of  his  long  white  fingers.  "That's  why  I 
want  to  see  them  in  action,  when  you're 
away." 

"My  policy  is  to  know  to  a  cubic  foot  what  a 
certain  number  of  men  are  capable  of  doing  in 
a  certain  time,"  explained  Thorpe,  as  they 
walked  toward  the  plain.  "My  next  move  is  to 
secure  the  men  who  will  achieve  the  result, 
whether  I  am  present  or  not.  That  done,  my 
work  is  done.     Simple,  isn't  it.'*" 

There  was  something  likable  about  Thorpe. 
Even  in  his  present  mood  Philip  could  not  but 
concede  that.  He  was  surprised  in  Thorpe,  in 
more  ways  than  one.  His  voice  was  low,  and 
filled  with  a  certain  companionable  quahty  that 
gave  one  confidence  in  him  immediately.  He 
was  apparently  a  man  of  education  and  of  some 
little  culture,  in  spite  of  his  vocation,  which 
usually  possesses  a  vocabulary  of  its  own  as 
hard  as  rock.  But  Philip's  greatest  surprise  came 
when  he  regarded  Thorpe's  personal  appearance. 
He  judged  that  he  was  past  forty,  perhaps 
forty-five,  and  the  thought  made  him  shudder 
inwardly.  He  was  twice — almost  three  times— 
as  old  as  Jeanne.  And  yet  there  was  about  him 
something  irresistibly  attractive,  a  fascination 
which  had  its  influence  upon  Philip  himself.   His 

^1 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

nails  dug  into  the  flesh  of  his  hands  when  he 
thought  of  this  man — and  Jeanne. 

Thorpe's  gang  was  hard  at  work  when  they 
came  to  the  end  of  the  rock-bed.  Scarcely  a 
man  seemed  to  take  notice  when  he  appeared. 
There  was  one  exception,  a  wiry,  red-faced  little 
man  who  raised  a  hand  to  his  cap  when  he  saw 
the  foreman. 

"That's  the  sub-foreman,'*  explained  Thorpe. 
"He  answers  to  me."  The  little  man  had  given 
a  signal,  and  Thorpe  added,  "Excuse  me  for 
a  moment.     He's  got  something  on  his  mind." 

He  drew  a  few  steps  aside,  and  Philip  walked 
along  the  line  of  laboring-men.  He  grinned  and 
nodded  to  them,  one  after  another.  Mac- 
Dougall  was  right.  They  were  the  toughest 
lot  of  men  he  had  ever  seen  in  one  gang. 

Loud  voices  turned  him  about,  and  he  saw 
that  Thorpe  and  the  sub-foreman  had  approached 
a  huge,  heavy-shouldered  man,  with  whom  they 
seemed  to  be  in  serious  altercation.  Two  or 
three  of  the  workmen  had  drawn  near,  and 
Thorpe's  voice  rang  out  clear  and  vibrant. 

"You'll  do  that,  Blake,  or  you'll  shoulder  your 
kit  back  home.  And  what  goes  with  you  goes 
with  your  clique.  I  know  your  kind,  and  you 
can't  worry  me.  Take  that  pick  and  dig — or 
hike.     There's  no  two  ways  about  it." 

Philip  could  not  hear  what  the  big  man  said, 
but  suddenly  Thorpe's  fist  shot  out  and  struck 
him   fairly    on    the   jaw.     In    another   instant 

252 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Thorpe  had  jumped  back,  and  was  facing  half 
a  dozen  angry,  threatenmg  men.  He  had  drawn 
a  revolver,  and  his  white  teeth  gleamed  in  a  cool 
and  menacing  smile. 

"Think  it  over,  boys,"  he  said,  quietly.  "And 
if  you're  not  satisfied  come  in  and  draw  your 
pay  this  noon.  We'll  furnish  you  with  outfits 
and  plenty  of  grub  if  you  don't  like  the  woris 
up  here.  I  don't  care  to  hold  men  like  you  to 
your  contracts." 

He  came  to  meet  Philip,  as  though  nothing 
unusual  had  happened. 

"That  will  delay  the  completion  of  our  work 
for  a  week  at  least,"  he  said,  as  he  thrust  his 
revolver  into  a  holster  hidden  under  his  coat. 
"I've  been  expecting  trouble  with  Blake  and  four 
or  five  of  his  pals  for  some  time.  I'm  glad  it's 
over.  Blake  threatens  a  strike  unless  I  give 
him  a  sub-foremanship  and  increase  the  men's 
wages  from  six  to  ten  dollars  a  day.  Think  of 
it.  A  strike — up  here!  It  would  be  the  be- 
ginning of  history,  wouldn't  it?" 

He  laughed  softly,  and  Philip  laughed  from 
sheer  admiration  of  the  man's  courage. 

"You  think  they'll  go.'*"  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  replied  Thorpe.  "It's  the 
best  thing  that  can  happen." 

An  hour  later  Philip  was  back  in  camp.  He 
did  not  see  Thorpe  again  until  after  dinner,  and 
then  the  gang -foreman  hunted  him  up.  His 
face  wore  a  worried  look. 

25S 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

"It's  a  little  worse  than  I  expected,"  he  said. 
**  Blake  and  eight  others  came  in  for  their  pay 
and  outfits  this  noon.  I  didn't  think  that  more 
than  three  or  four  would  have  the  nerve  to 
quit." 

"I'll  furnish  you  with  men  to  take  their 
places,"  said  Philip. 

"There's  the  hitch,"  replied  Thorpe,  rolling  a 
cigarette.  "I  want  my  men  to  work  by  them- 
selves. Put  half  a  dozen  of  your  amateur  road- 
men among  them  and  it  will  mean  twenty  per 
cent,  less  work  done,  and  perhaps  trouble. 
They're  a  tough  lot.  I  concede  that.  Fve 
thought  of  a  way  to  offset  the  loss  of  Blake  and' 
the  others.  We  can  set  a  gang  of  your  men  at 
work  over  at  Gray  Beaver  Lake,  and  th^  can 
build  up  to  meet  us." 

Philip  saw  MacDougall  soon  after  his  short 
talk  with  Thorpe.  The  engineer  did  not  dis- 
guise his  pleasure  at  the  turn  which  affairs  had 
taken. 

"I'm  glad  they're  going,"  he  declared.  **If 
there's  to  be  trouble  I'll  feel  easier  with  that 
•»  bunch  out  of  camp.  I'd  give  my  next  month's 
I  salary  if  Thorpe  would  take  his  whole  outfit 
back  where  they  came  from.  They're  doing 
business  with  the  road-bed  all  right,  but  I  don't 
like  the  idea  of  having  'em  around  when  there 
are  throats  to  be  cut,  one  side  or  t'other.** 

Philip  did  not  see  Thorpe  again  that  day.  He 
selected  his  men  for  the  Gray  Beaver  work,  and 

254 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

in  thfi  afternoon  despatched  a  messenger  over 
the  Fort  Churchill  route  to  meet  Brokaw.  He 
was  confident  that  Brokaw  and  his  daughter 
would  show  up  during  the  next  few  days,  but 
at  the  same  time  he  instructed  the  messenger  to 
go  to  Churchill  if  he  should  not  meet  them  on 
the  way.  Other  men  he  sent  to  recall  the  pros- 
pecting parties  outfitted  by  MacDougall.  Early 
in  the  evening  the  St.  Pierres,  Lecault,  and  Hen- 
shaw  joined  him  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  office. 
During  the  day  the  four  had  done  scout  work  five 
miles  on  all  sides  of  the  camp.  Lecault  had  shot 
a  moose  three  miles  to  the  south,  and  had  hung 
up  the  meat.  One  of  the  St.  Pierres  saw  Blake 
and  his  gang  on  the  way  to  the  Churchill.  Be- 
yond these  two  incidents  they  brought  in  no 
news.  A  little  later  MacDougall  brought  in  two 
other  men  whom  he  could  trust,  and  armed  them 
with  muzzle-loaders.  They  were  the  two  last 
guns  in  the  camp. 

With  ten  men  constantly  pr^ared  for  attack, 
Philip  began  to  feel  that  he  had  the  situation 
wdl  in  hand.  It  would  be  practically  impos- 
sible for  his  enemies  to  surprise  the  camp,  and 
afta*  their  first  day*s  scout  duty  the  men  on  the 
trail  would  always  be  within  sound  of  rifle-shots, 
even  if  they  did  not  discover  the  advance  of  an 
attacking  force  in  time  to  beat  them  to  camp. 
In  the  event  of  one  making  such  a  discovery  he 
was  to  signal  the  others  by  a  series  of  shots,  such 
as  one  might  fire  at  a  running  moose. 

805 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Philip  found  it  almost  impossible  to  fight  back 
his  thoughts  of  Jeanne.  During  the  two  or 
three  days  that  followed  the  departure  of  Blake 
he  did  not  allow  himself  an  hour's  rest  from  eariy 
dawn  untU  late  at  night.  Each  night  he  went 
to  bed  exhausted,  with  the  hope  that  sleep  would 
bury  his  grief.  The  struggle  wore  upon  him, 
and  the  faithful  MacDougall  began  to  note  the 
change  in  his  comrade's  face.  The  fourth  day 
Thorpe  disappeared  and  did  not  show  up  again 
until  the  following  morning.  Every  hour  of 
his  absence  was  like  the  stab  of  a  knife  in  Philip's 
heart,  for  he  knew  that  the  gang-foreman  had, 
gone  to  see  Jeanne.  Three  days  later  the  visit 
was  repeated,  and  that  night  MacDougall  found 
Phihp  in  a  fever. 

"You're  overdoing,"  he  told  him.  "You're 
not  in  bed  five  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four. 
Cut  it  out,  or  you'll  be  in  the  hospital  instead  of 
in  the  fighting  line  when  the  big  show  comes  to 
town.'* 

Days  of  mental  agony  and  of  physical  pain 
followed.  Neither  Philip  nor  MacDougall  could 
understand  the  mysterious  lack  of  developments. 
They  had  expected  attack  before  this,  and  yet 
ceaseless  scout  work  brought  in  no  evidence  of 
an  approaching  crisis.  Neither  could  they  un- 
derstand the  growing  disaffection  among  Thorpe's 
men.  The  numerical  strength  of  the  gang 
dwindled  from  nineteen  down  to  fifteen,  from 
fifteen  to  twelve.    At  last  Thorpe  voluntarily 

256 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

asked  Philip  to  cut  his  salary  in  two,  because  he 
could  not  hold  his  men.  On  that  same  day  the 
little  sub-foreman  and  two  others  left  him, 
leaving  only  nine  men  at  work.  The  delay  in 
Brokaw's  arrival  was  another  puzzle  to  Philip. 
Two  weeks  passed,  and  in  that  time  Thorpe  left 
camp  three  times.  On  the  fifteenth  day  the 
Fort  Churchill  messenger  returned.  He  was 
astounded  when  he  found  that  Brokaw  was  not 
m  camp,  and  brought  amazing  news.  Brokaw 
and  his  daughter  had  departed  from  Fort  Church- 
ill two  days  after  Pierre  had  followed  Jeanne  and 
Philip.  They  had  gone  in  two  canoes,  up  the 
Churchill.  He  had  seen  no  signs  of  them  any- 
where along  the  route. 

No  sooner  had  he  received  the  news  than 
Philip  sent  the  messenger  after  MacDougall. 
The  Scotchman's  red  face  stared  at  him  blankly 
when  he  told  him  what  had  happened. 

"That's  their  first  move  in  the  real  fight,"  said 
Philip,  with  a  hard  ring  in  his  voice.  "They've 
got  Brokaw.  Keep  your  men  close  from  this 
hour  on,  Sandy.  Hereafter  let  five  of  them 
sleep  in  our  bunks  during  the  day,  and  keep 
them  awake  during  the  night." 

Five  days  passed  without  a  sign  of  an  enemy. 

About  eight  o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  sixth 
MacDougall  came  into  the  oflBce,  where  Philip 
was  alone.  The  young  Scotchman's  usually 
florid  face  was  white.  He  dropped  a  curse  as 
he  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair  with  both  handso 

867 


FLOWER   OF    THE    N^^ORTH 

It  was  the  third  or  fourth  time  that  Philip  had 
heard  MacDougall  swear. 

"Damn  that  Thorpe!"  he  cried,  in  a  low  voice. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Philip,  his  muscles 
tightening. 

^     MacDougall  viciously  beat  the  ash  from  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe. 

"I  didn't  want  to  worry  you  about  Thorpe, 
so  I've  kept  quiet  about  some  things,"  he 
growled.  "  Thorpe  brought  up  a  load  of  whisky 
with  him.  I  knew  it  was  against  the  law  you've 
set  down  for  this  camp,  but  I  figured  you  were 
having  trouble  enough  without  getting  you  into 
a  mix-up  with  him,  so  I  didn't  say  anything. 
But  this  other — is  damnable!  Twice  he's  had 
a  woman  sneak  in  to  visit  him.  She's  there 
again  to-night!" 

A  choking,  gripping  sensation  rose  in  Philip's 
throat.  MacDougall  was  not  looking,  and  did 
not  see  the  convulsive  twitching  of  the  other's 
face,  or  the  terrible  light  that  shot  for  an  instant 
into  his  eyes. 

"A  woman — Mac — " 

**A  young  woman,"  said  MacDougall,  with 
emphasis.  "I  don't  know  who  she  is,  but  I  do 
know  that  she  hasn't  a  right  there  or  she  wouldn't 
sneak  in  like  a  thief.  I'm  going  to  be  blunt — 
damned  blunt.  I  think  she's  one  of  the  other 
men's  wives.     There  are  half  a  dozen  in  camp." 

"Haven't  you  ever  looked — ^to  see  if  you  could 
recognize  her?" 

256 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

"Haven't  had  the  chance,"  said  MacDougall. 
**  She's  been  wrapped  up  both  times,  and  as  it 
was  none  of  my  business  I  didn't  lay  in  wait. 
But  now — it's  up  to  you!" 

Philip  rose  slowly.  He  felt  cold.  He  put  on 
his  coat  and  cap,  and  buckled  on  his  revolver. 
His  face  was  deadly  white  wh^i  he  turned  to 
MacDougall. 

"She  is  over  there  to-ni^t?*' 

**  Sneaked  in  not  half  an  hour  ago.  I  saw  her 
come  out  of  the  edge  of  the  spruce." 

"From  the  trail  that  leads  out  over  the 
plain?" 

"Yes," 

Philip  walked  to  the  door. 

"I'm  going  ovCT  to  call  on  Thorpe,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "I  may  not  be  back  for  some  time, 
Sandy." 

In  the  deep  shadows  outside  he  stood  gazing 
at  the  light  in  Thorpe's  cabin.  Then  he  walked 
slowly  toward  the  spruce.  He  did  not  go  to 
the  door,  but  leaned  with  his  back  against  the 
building,  near  one  of  the  windows.  The  first 
I  shuddering  sickness  had  gone  from  him.  His 
''temples  throbbed.  At  the  sound  of  a  voice  in- 
side which  was  Thorpe's  the  chill  in  his  blood 
turned  to  fire.  The  terrible  fear  that  had  fallen 
upon  him  at  MacDougall's  words  held  him  mo- 
tionless, and  his  brain  worked  upon  but  one  idea 
— one  determination.  If  it  was  Jeanne  who 
came  in  this  way,  he  would  kill  Thorpe.     If  it 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH" 

was  another  woman,  he  would  give  Thorpe  that 
night  to  get  out  of  the  country.  He  waited. 
He  heard  the  gang-man's  voice  frequently,  once 
in  a  loud,  half-mocking  laugh.  Twice  he  heard 
a  lower  voice — a  woman's.  For  an  hour  he 
watched.  He  walked  back  and  forth  in  the 
gloom  of  the  spruce,  and  waited  another  hour. 
Then  the  light  went  out,  and  he  slipped  back 
to  the  corner  of  the  cabin. 

After  a  moment  the  door  opened,  and  a 
hooded  figure  came  out,  and  walked  rapidly 
toward  the  trail  that  buried  itself  amid  the 
spruce.  Philip  ran  around  the  cabin  and  fol- 
lowed. There  was  a  little  open  beyond  the  first 
fringe  of  spruce,  and  in  this  he  ran  up  silently 
from  behind  and  overtook  the  one  he  was 
pursuing.  As  his  hand  fell  upon  her  arm 
the  woman  turned  upon  him  with  a  frightened 
cry.  Philip's  hand  dropped.  He  took  a  step 
back. 

"My  God!    Jeanne — it  is  you!'* 

His  voice  was  husky,  like  a  choking  man's. 
For  an  instant  Jeanne's  white,  terrified  face  met 
his  own.  And  then,  without  a  word  to  him, 
she  fled  swiftly  down  the  trail. 

Philip  made  no  elBFort  to  follow.  For  two  or 
three  minutes  he  stood  like  a  man  turned  sud- 
denly into  hewn  rock,  staring  with  unseeing 
eyes  into  the  gloom  where  Jeanne  had  disap- 
peared. Then  he  walked  back  to  the  edge  of 
the  spruce.     There  he  drew  his  revolver,  and 

260 


FLOWER   OP    THE    NORTH 

cocked  it.  The  starlight  revealed  a  madness 
m  his  face  as  he  approached  Thorpe's  cabin. 
He  was  smilmg,  but  it  was  such  a  smile  as  pre- 
sages death;   a  smile  as  implacable  as  fate  it- 


XXI 

AS  Philip    approached    the    cabin  he  saw  a 
/\  figure    stealing    away  through  the  gloom. 
His  first  thought  was  that  he  had  returned  a 
minute  too  late  to  wreak  his  veaigeance  upon  the 
gang-foreman  in  his  own  home,  and  he  quick- 
ened his  steps  in  pursuit.     The  man  ahead  of 
him   was   cutting   direct  for  the  camp  supply- 
house,  which  was  the  nightly  rendezvous  of  those 
who  wished  to  play  cards  or  exchange  camp 
gossip.     The  supply-house,  aglow  with  light,  was 
not  more  than  two  hundred  yards  from  Thorpe's, 
and  Philip  saw  that  if  he  dealt  out  the  justice 
he  contemplated  he  had  not  a  moment  to  lose. 
He  began  to  run,  so  quickly  that  he  approached 
within  a  dozen  paces  of  the  man  he  was  pur- 
suing without  being  heard.     It  was  not  until 
then  that  he  made  a  discovery  which  stopped 
him.     The  man  ahead  was  not  Thorpe.     Sud- 
denly, looking  beyond  him,  he  saw  a  second 
figure  pass  slowly  through  the  lighted  door  of 
the  supply  -  house.     Even  at  that  distance  he 
recognized  the  gang-foreman.     He  thrust  his  re- 
volver under  his  coat  and  fell  a  little  farther 
behind  the  man  he  had  mistaken  for  Tho*^*^  so 

262 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

that  when  the  latter  passed  within  the  small  circle 
of  light  that  came  from  the  supply-house  win- 
dows he  was  fifty  instead  of  a  dozen  paces  away. 
Something  in  the  other's  manner,  something 
strangely  and  potently  familiar  in  his  slim,  lithe 
form,  in  the  quick,  half-running  movement  of 
his  body,  drew  a  sharp  breath  from  Philip.  He 
was  on  the  point  of  calling  a  name,  but  it  died  on 
his  lips.  A  moment  more  and  the  man  passed 
through  the  door.  Philip  was  certain  that  it 
was  Pierre  Couchee  who  had  followed  Thorpe. 

He  was  filled  with  a  sudden  fear  as  he  ran 
toward  the  store.  He  had  scarcely  crossed  the 
threshold  when  a  glance  showed  him  Thorpe 
leaning  upon  a  narrow  counter,  and  Pierre  close 
beside  him.  He  saw  that  the  half-breed  was 
speaking,  and  Thorpe  drew  himself  erect.  'Pien, 
as  quick  as  a  flash,  two  things  happened.,  Thorpe's 
hand  went  to  his  belt,  Pierre's  sent  a  lightning 
gleam  of  steel  back  over  his  shoulder.  The  ter- 
rible drive  of  the  knife  and  the  explosion  of 
Thorpe's  revolver  came  in  the  same  instant. 
Thorpe  crumpled  back  over  the  counter,  clutch- 
ing at  his  breast.  Pierre  turned  about,  stagger- 
ing, and  saw  Philip.  His  eyes  lighted  up,  and 
with  a  moaning  cry  he  stretched  out  his  arms 
as  Philip  sprang  to  him.  Above  the  sudden 
tumult  of  men's  feet  and  excited  voices  he 
gasped  out  Jeanne's  name.  Half  a  dozen  men 
had  crowded  about  them.  Through  the  ring 
burst    MacDougall,   a    revolver    in    his    hand. 

M8 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Pierre  had  become  a  dead  weight  in  Philip's 
arms. 

"Help  me  over  to  the  cabin  with  him,  Mac," 
he  said.  He  looked  around  among  the  men. 
It  struck  him  as  curious,  even  then,  that  he  saw 
none  of  Thorpe's  gang.  "Is  Thorpe  done  for?" 
he  asked. 

"He's  dead,"  replied  some  one. 

With  an  effort  Pierre  opened  his  eyes. 

"Dead!"  he  breathed,  and  in  that  one  word 
there  was  a  tremble  of  joy  and  triumph. 

"Take  Thorpe  over  to  his  cabin,"  commanded 
Philip,  as  he  and  MacDougall  lifted  Pierre  be- 
tween them.     "I  will  answer  for  this  man." 

They  could  hear  Pierre's  sobbing  breath  as 
they  hurried  across  the  open.  They  laid  him 
on  Philip's  bunk  and  Pierre  opened  his  eyes 
again.     He  looked  at  Philip. 

"M'sieur,"  he  whispered,  "tell  me— quick— 
if  I  must  die!" 

MacDougall  had  studied  medicine  and  sur- 
gery before  engineering,  and  took  the  place  of 
camp  physician.  Philip  drew  back  while  he 
ripped  open  the  half-breed's  garments  and  bared 
his  breast.  Then  he  darted  to  his  bunk  for  the 
satchel  in  which  he  kept  his  bandages  and  medi- 
cines, throwing  off  his  coat  as  he  went.  Philip 
bent  over  Pierre.  Blood  was  oozing  slowly  from 
the  wounded  man's  right  breast.  Over  his  heart 
Philip  noticed  a  blood-stained  locket,  fastened 
by  a  habiche  string  about  his  neck. 

264 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Pierre's  hands  groped  eagerly  for  Philip's. 
M  sieur— you  will  tell  me-if  I  must  die?" 
he  pleaded.     "There  are  things  you  must  know 
—about  Jeanne— if  I  go.     It  will  not  hurt.     I 
am  not  afraid.     You  will  tell  me—" 
"Yes,"  said  Philip. 

He  could  scarcely  speak,  and  while  Mac- 
L>ougaIl  was  at  work  stood  so  that  Pierre  could 
not  see  his  face.  There  was  a  sobbing  note  in 
Pierre  s  breath,  and  he  knew  what  it  meant. 
He  had  heard  that  same  sound  more  than  once 
when  he  had  shot  moose  and  caribou  through 
the  lungs.  Five  minutes  later  MacDougall 
straightened  himself.  He  had  done  all  that  he 
could.  Philip  followed  him  to  the  back  part 
of  the  room.  Almost  without  sound  his  lips 
framed  the  words,  "Will  he  die?" 

"  Yes,"  said  MacDougall.     "  There  is  no  hope. 
He  may  last  until  morning." 

Philip  took  a  stool  and  sat  down  beside  Pierre. 
There  was  no  fear  in  the  wounded  man's  face. 
His  eyes  were  clear.  His  voice  was  a  little  stronger. 
"I  will  die,  M'sieur,"  he  said,  calmly. 
**I  am  afraid  so,  Pierre." 
Pierre's  damp  fingers  closed  about  his  own. 
His  eyes  shone  softly,  and  he  smiled. 

"It  is  best,"  he  said,  "and  I  am  glad.     I  feel 
quite  well.     I  will  live  for  some  time?" 
"Perhaps  for  a  few  hours,  Pierre." 
"God  is  good  to  me,"  breathed  Pierre,  de- 
voutly.    "I  thank  Him.     Are  we  alone?" 

18  265 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"Do  you  wish  to  be  alone?^* 
"Yes." 

Philip  motioned  to  MacDougall,  who  went 
into  the  little  office  room. 

"I  will  die,"  whispered  Pierre,  softly,  as  though 
he  were  achieving  a  triumph.  "And  every- 
thing  would  die  with  me,  M'sieur,  if  I  did  not 
know  that  you  love  Jeanne,  and  that  you  will  - 
care  for  her  when  I  am  gone.  M'sieur,  I  have 
told  you  that  I  love  her.  I  have  worshiped 
her,  next  to  my  God.  I  die  happy,  knowing 
that  I  am  dying  for  her.  If  I  had  lived  I  would 
have  suffered,  for  I  love  alone.  She  does  not 
dream  that  my  love  is  different  from  hers,  for 
I  have  never  told  her.  It  would  have  given  her 
pain.  And  you  will  never  let  her  know.  As 
Our  Dear  Lady  is  my  witness,  M'sieur,  she  has 
loved  but  one  man,  and  that  man  is  you." 

Pierre  gave  a  great  breath.  A  warm  flood 
seemed  suddenly  to  engulf  PhHip.  Did  he  hear 
right?  Could  he  believe?  He  fell  upon  his 
knees  beside  Pierre  and  brushed  his  dark  hair 
back  from  his  face. 

"Yes,  I  love  her,"  he  said,  softly.  "But  I  did 
not  know  that  she  loved  me." 

"  It  is  not  strange,"  said  Pierre,  looking  straight 
into  his  eyes.  "But  you  will  understand— now 
—M'sieur.  I  seem  to  have  strength,  and  I  will 
tell  you  all— from  the  beginning.  Perhaps  I 
have  done  wrong.  You  will  know— soon.  You 
remember  Jeanne  told   you  the  story   of  the 

266 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

baby — of  the  woman  frozen  in  the  snow.  That 
was  the  beginning  of  the  long  fight— for  me. 
This— what  I  am  about  to  tell  you— will  be 
sacred  to  you,  M'sieur?'* 
"As  my  life,"  said  Phflip. 
Pierre  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  He 
seemed  to  be  gathering  his  thoughts,  so  that  he 
could  tell  in  few  words  the  tragedy  of  years. 
Two  brilliant  spots  burned  in  his  cheeks,  and 
the  hand  which  Philip  held  was  hot. 

"Years  ago— twenty,  almost-H:here  came  a 
man  to  Fort  o'  God,"  he  began.  "He  was  very 
young,  and  from  the  south.  D'Arcambal  was 
then  middle-aged,  but  his  wife  was  young  and 
beautiful.  Jeanne  says  that  you  saw  her  pic- 
ture—against the  wall.  D'Arcambal  worshiped 
her.  She  was  his  life.  You  understand  what 
happened.  The  man  from  the  south — ^the  young 
wife — they  went  away  together." 

Pierre  coughed.  A  bit  of  blood  reddened  his 
lips.  Philip  wiped  it  away  gently  with  his 
handkerchief,  hiding  the  stain  from  Pierre's  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  understand." 

"It  broke  D'Arcambal's  heart,"  resumed 
Pierre.  "He  destroyed  everything  that  had 
belonged  to  the  woman.  He  turned  her  picture 
to  the  wall.  His  love  turned  slowly  to  hate. 
It  was  two  years  later  that  I  came  over  the 
barrens  one  night  and  found  Jeanne  and  her 
dead  mother.  The  woman,  M'sieur — Jeanne's 
mother — was  D'Arcambal's  wife.    She  was  re- 

267 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

turning  to  Fort  o'  God,  and  God*s  justice  over- 
took her  almost  at  its  doors.  I  carried  little 
Jeanne  to  my  Indian  mother,  and  then  made 
ready  to  carry  the  woman  to  her  husband.  It 
was  then  that  a  terrible  thought  came  to  me. 
Jeanne  was  not  D'Arcambal's  daughter.  She 
was  a  part  of  the  man  who  had  stolen  his  wife. 
I  worshiped  the  little  Jeanne  even  then,  and 
for  her  sake  my  mother  and  I  swore  secrecy, 
and  buried  the  woman.  Then  we  took  the  babe 
to  Fort  o'  God  as  a  stranger.  We  saved  her. 
We  saved  D'Arcambal.     No  one  ever  knew." 

Pierre  stopped  for  breath. 

"Was  it  best.?"* 

'*It  was  glorious,'*  said  Philip,  trembling. 

"It  would  have  come  out  right — in  the  end — if 
the  ^ather  had  not  returned,"  said  Pierre.  *'I 
must  hurry,  M'sieur,  for  it  hurts  me  now  to 
talk.  He  came  first  a  year  ago,  and  revealed 
himself  to  Jeanne.  He  told  her  everything. 
D'Arcambal  was  rich;  Jeanne  and  I  both  had 
money.  He  threatened  —  we  bought  him  off. 
We  fought  to  keep  the  terrible  thing  from  D'Ar- 
cambal. Our  money  sent  him  away  for  a  time. 
Then  he  returned.  It  was  news  of  him  I  brought 
up  the  river  to  Jeanne — from  Churchill.  I 
offered  to  kill  him — ^but  Jeanne  would  not  listen 
to  that.  But  the  Great  God  willed  that  I  should. 
I  killed  him  to-night — over  there!" 

A  great  joy  surged  above  the  grief  in  Philip's 
heart.     He  could  not  speak,  but  pressed  Pierre's 

268 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

hand   harder,   and  looked   into    his    glistening 
eyes. 

Pierre's  next  words  broke  his  silence,  and 
wrung  a  low  cry  from  his  lips. 

"M'sieur,  this  man  Thorpe-Jeanne's  father 
--is  the  man  whom  you  know  as  Lord  Fitzhugh 
Lee." 

He  coughed  violently,  and  with  sudden  fear 
Philip  lifted  his  head  so  that  it  rested  against 
his  shoulder.  After  a  moment  he  lowered  it 
again.  His  face  was  as  white  as  Pierre's  after 
that  sudden  fit  of  coughing. 

"I  talked  with  him — ^alone — on  the  afternoon 
of  the  fight  on  the  rock,"  continued  Pierre, 
huskily.  "He  was  hiding  in  the  woods  near 
Churchill,  and  left  for  Fort  o'  God  on  that  same 
day.  I  did  not  tell  Jeanne — until  after  what 
happened,  and  I  came  up  with  you  on  the  river. 
Thorpe  was  waiting  for  us  at  Fort  o'  God.  It 
was  he  whom  Jeanne  saw  that  night  beside  the 
rodk,  but  I  could  not  tell  you  the  truth— then. 
He  came  often  after  that — ^two,  three  times  a 
week.  He  tortured  Jeanne.  My  God !  he  taimt- 
ed  her,  M'sieur,  and  made  her  let  him  kiss  her, 
because  he  was  her  father.  We  gave  him  money 
—all  that  we  could  get;  we  promised  him  more, 
if  he  would  leave — ^five  thousand  dollars — in 
three  years.  He  agreed  to  go — ^after  he  had  fin- 
ished his  work  here.  And  that  work — M'sieur — 
was  to  destroy  you.  He  told  Jeanne,  because  it 
made  her  fear  him  more.     He  compelled  her  to 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

come  to  his  cabin.  He  thought  she  was  his 
slave,  that  she  would  do  anything  to  be  free 
of  him.  He  told  her  of  his  plot — ^how  he  had 
fooled  you  in  the  sham  fight  with  one  of  his 
men — how  those  men  were  going  to  attack  you 
a  little  later,  and  how  he  had  intercepted  your 
letter  from  Churchill  and  sent  in  its  place  the 
other  letter  which  made  your  camp  defenseless. 
He  was  not  afraid  of  her.  She  was  in  his  power, 
and  he  laughed  at  her  horror,  and  tortured  her 
as  a  cat  will  a  bird.     But  Jeanne — " 

A  spasm  of  pain  shot  over  Pierre's  face.  Fresh 
blood  dyed  his  lips,  and  a  shiver  ran  through  his 
body. 

"My  God! — water — something — ^M'sieur,"  he 
gasped.     "I  must  go  on!" 

Philip  raised  him  again  in  his  arms.  He  saw 
MacDougall's  head  appear  through  the  door. 

^"You  will  rest  easier  this  way,  Pierre,"  he 
said. 

After  a  few  moments  Pierre  spoke  in  a  gasping 
whisper. 

"You  must  understand.  I  must  be  quick," 
he  said.  "We  could  not  warn  you  of  what 
Jeanne  had  discovered.  That  would  have  re- 
vealed her  father.  D'Arcambal  would  have 
known — every  one.  Thorpe  plans  to  dress  his 
men — ^like  Indians.  They  are  to  attack  your 
camp  to-morrow  night.  Ten  days  ago  we  went 
to  the  camp  of  old  Sachigo,  the  Cree,  who  loves 
Jeanne  as  his  own  daughter.     It  was  Jeanne's 

270 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

Idea — ^to  save  you.  Jeanne  told  him  of  Thorpe's 
plot  to  destroy  you,  and  to  lay  the  blame  on 
Saehigo's  people.  Sachigo  is  out  there — ^in  the 
mountains — hiding  with  thirty  of  his  tribe.  Two 
days  ago  Jeanne  learned  where  her  father's  men 
were  hiding.  We  had  planned  everything.  To- 
morrow night — when  they  move  to  attack — we 
were  to  start  a  signal-fire  on  the  big  rock  moun- 
tain at  the  end  of  the  lake.  Sachigo  starts  at 
the  signal,  and  lays  in  ambush  for  the  others  in 
the  ravine  between  the  two  mountains.  None 
of  Thorpe's  men  will  come  out  alive.  Sachigo 
and  his  people  will  destroy  them,  and  none  will 
ever  know  how  it  happened,  for  the  Crees  keep 
their  secrets.  But  now — ^it  is  too  late — ^for  me. 
When  it  happens — ^I  will  be  gone.  The  signal- 
pile  is  built — birch-bark — at  the  very  top  of  the 
rock.  Jeanne  will  wait  for  me  out  on  the  plain 
— and  I  will  not  come.  You  must  fire  the  signal, 
M'sieur — as  soon  as  it  is  dark.  None  will  ever 
know.  Jeanne's  father  is  dead.  You  will  keep 
the  secret — of  her  mother — always — " 

"Forever,"  said  Philip. 

MacDougall  came  into  the  room.  He  brought 
a  glass,  i>artly  filled  with  a  colored  liquid,  and 
placed  it  to  Pierre's  lips.  Pierre  swallowed  with 
an  effort,  and  with  a  significant  hunch  of  his 
shoulders  for  Philip's  eyes  alone  the  engineer 
returned  to  the  little  room. 

"Mon  DieUy  how  it  bums!"  said  Pierre,  as  if 
to  himself.     "May  I  lie  down  again,  M'sieur?" 

271 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

Philip  lowered  him  gently.  He  made  no  effort 
to  speak  in  these  moments.  Pierre's  eyes  were 
dark  and  Imninous  as  they  sought  his  own.  The 
draught  he  had  taken  gave  him  a  passing 
strength. 

"I  saw  Thorpe  again  this  afternoon,"  he  said, 
more  calmly.  "  D'Arcambal  thought  I  had  taken 
Jeanne  to  visit  a  trapper's  wife  down  the  Church- 
ill. I  saw  Thorpe — ^alone.  He  had  been  drink- 
ing. He  laughed  at  me,  and  said  that  Jeanne 
and  I  were  fools — that  he  would  not  leave  as  he 
had  said  he  would — ^but  that  he  would  remain — 
always.  I  told  Jeanne,  and  asked  her  again  to 
let  me  kill  him.  But  she  said  no — ^and  I  had 
taken  my  oath  to  her.  Jeanne  saw  him  again 
to-night.  I  was  near  the  cabin,  and  saw  you. 
I  told  him  I  would  kill  him  if  he  did  not  go. 
He  laughed  again,  and  struck  me.  When  I 
came  to  my  feet  he  was  half  across  the  open.  I 
followed.  I  forgot  my  oath.  Rage  filled  my 
heart.  You  know  what  happened.  You  will 
tell  Jeanne — so  that  she  will  understand — ** 

"Can  we  not  send  for  her?"  asked  Philip. 
"She  must  be  near." 

**No,  M'sieur,"  he  replied,  softly.  "It  would 
only  give  her  great  pain  to  see  me — like  this. 
She  was  to  meet  me  to-night — ^at  twelve  o'clock 
— on  the  trail  where  the  road-bed  crosses.  You 
will  meet  her  in  my  place.  When  she  under- 
stands all  that  has  happened  you  may  bring  her 
here,  if  she  wishes  to  come.     Then — ^to-morrow 

272 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

n^ht-you  will  go  together  to   fire  the   sig 

"But  Thorpe  is  dead,"  said  Philip.     "Witt 
they  attack  without  him?" 
"^'w^"^  "^  another,  besides  him,"  said  Pier^. 

Ihat  IS  one  secret  which  Thorpe  has  kept  from 
Jeanne-who  the  other  is— the  one  who  is  pay- 
ing to  have  you  destroyed.  Yes— they  will 
aLtac^. 

Philip  bent  low  over  Pierre. 

"I  have  known  of  this  plot  for  a  long  time. 
Pierre,  he  said,  tensely.  "I  know  that  this 
iJioipe,  who  for  some  reason  has  passed  as  Lord 
J^-itzhugh  Lee,  is  but  the  agent  of  a  more  power- 
ml  force  behmd  him.  Have  you  told  me  all, 
Pierre?    Do  you  know  nothing  more?" 

"Nothing,  M'sieur." 

"Was  it  Thorpe  who  attacked  you  on  the  cliBF 
at  Churchill?" 

"No.  I  am  sure  that  it  was  not  he.  If  the 
attack  had  not  failed— it  would  have  meant  loss 
—for  him.  I  have  laid  it  to  the  ruffians  who 
wanted  to  kill  me— and  secure  Jeanne.  You 
understand — " 

"Yes,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  was  the  motive 
for  the  attack,  Pierre,"  said  PhUip.  "Did 
Thorpe  go  to  see  any  one  in  Churchill?" 

"I  don't  know.  He  was  concealing  himself 
in  the  forest." 

A  convulsive  shudder  ran  through  Pierre's 
body.     He  gave  a  low  cry  of  pain,  and  his  hand 

278 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

clutched  at  the  hahiche  cord  which  held  the 
locket  about  his  neck. 

**M'sieur,"  he  whispered,  quickly,  "this  Locket 
— ^was  on  the  little  Jeanne — when  I  found  her  in 
the  snow.  I  kept  it  because  it  bears  the  woman's 
initials.  I  am  foolish,  M'sieur.  I  am  weak. 
But  I  would  like  to  have  it  buried  with  me — 
under  the  old  tree — where  Jeanne's  mother  lies. 
And  if  you  could,  IVFsieur — ^if  you  only  could — 
place  something  of  Jeanne's  in  my  hand — I  would 
rest  easier." 

Phihp  bowed  his  head  in  silence,  while  his 
eyes  grew  blinding  hot.     Pierre  pressed  his  hand. 

"She  loves  you — ^as  I  love  her,"  he  whispered, 
so  low  that  Philip  could  scarcely  hear.  "You 
will  love  her — always.  If  you  do  not — the  Great 
God  will  let  the  curse  of  Pierre  Couchee  fall 
lipon  you!" 

Choking  back  the  great  sobs  that  rose  in  his 
breast,  Philip  sank  uj>on  his  knees  beside  Pierre, 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  arms  like  a  heart- 
broken boy.  For  several  moments  there  was  a 
silence,  punctuated  by  the  rasping  breath  of  the 
wounded  man.  Suddenly  this  sound  ceased, 
and  Philip  felt  a  cold  fear  leap  through  him.  He 
listened,  neither  breathing  nor  lifting  his  head. 
In  that  int^^al  of  pulseless  quiet  a  terrible  cry 
came  from  Pierre's  lips,  and  when  Philip  looked 
up  the  dying  half-breed  had  struggled  to  a  sit- 
ting posture,  blood  staining  his  lips  again,  his  eyes 
blazing,  his  white  face  damp  with  the  clammy 

«74 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

touch  of  death,  and  was  staring  through  the 
cabin  window.  It  was  the  window  that  looked 
out  over  the  lake,  toward  the  rock  mountain 
half  a  mile  away.  Philip  turned,  horrified  and 
wondering.  Through  the  window  he  saw  a 
glow  in  the  sky— the  glow  of  a  fire,  leaping  up 
in  a  crimson  flood  from  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain! 

Again  that  terrible,  moaning  cry  fell  from 
Pierre's  lips,  and  he  reached  out  his  arms  tow- 
ard the  signal  that  was  blazing  forth  its  warning 
in  the  night. 

"Jeanne  —  Jeanne  —  "  he  sobbed.  **My 
Jeanne — " 

He  swayed,  and  fell  back.  His  words  came 
in  choking  gasps. 

"The  signal!"  he  struggled,  fighting  to  make 
Philip  understand  him.  "Jeanne — saw — Thorpe 
— ^to-night.  He — ^must — changed — ^plans.  At- 
tack— ^to-night.  Jeanne — Jeanne — ^my  Jeanne 
— ^has  lighted — ^the  signal — ^fire!" 

A  tremor  ran  through  his  body,  and  he  lay 
still.  MacDougall  ran  across  from  the  half- 
open  door,  and  put  his  head  to  Pierre's  breast. 

"Is  he  dead?"  asked  Philip. 

"Not  yet." 

**Will  he  become  conscious  again?" 

"Possibly." 

Phihp  gripped  MacDougall  by  the  arm. 

"The  attack  is  to  be  made  to-night,  Mac," 
he  exclaimed.     "Warn  the  men.    Have  them 

275 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

ready.  But  you — 'gou,  MacDougall,  attend  to 
this  man,  and  keep  him  alweH 

Without  another  word  he  ran  to  the  door  and 
out  into  the  night.  The  signal-fire  was  leaping 
to  the  sky.  It  hghted  up  the  black  cap  of  the 
mountain,  and  sent  a  thousand  aurora  fires 
flashing  across  the  lake.  And  Philip,  as  he  ran 
swiftly  through  the  camp  toward  the  narrow 
trail  that  led  to  that  mountain  -  top,  repeated 
over  and  over  again  the  dying  words  of  Pierre— 

"Jeanne — my  Jeanne — my  Jeanne — " 


xxn 

NEWS  of  the  double  tragedy  had  swept 
through  the  camp,  and  there  was  a  crowd 
in  front  of  the  supply-house.  Philip  passed  close 
to  Thorpe's  house  to  avoid  discovery,  ran  a  hun- 
dred yards  up  the  trail  over  which  Jeanne  had 
fled  a  short  time  before,  and  then  cut  straight 
across  through  the  thin  timber  for  the  head  of 
the  lake.  He  felt  no  effort  in  his  running.  Low 
bush  whipped  him  in  the  face  and  left  no  sting. 
He  was  not  conscious  that  he  was  panting  for 
breath  when  he  came  out  in  the  black  shadow  of 
the  mountain.  This  night  in  itself  had  been  a 
creation  for  him,  for  out  (rf  grief  and  pain  it  had 
lifted  him  into  a  new  life,  and  into  a  happiness 
that  seemed  to  fill  him  with  the  strength  and 
the  endurance  of  five  men.  Jeanne  loved  him! 
The  wonderful  truth  cried  itself  out  in  his  soul 
at  every  step  he  took,  and  he  murmured  it  aloud 
to  himself,  over  and  over  again,  as  he  ran. 

The  glow  of  the  signal-fire  lighted  up  the  sky 
above  him,  and  he  climbed  up,  higher  and  higher, 
scrambling  swiftly  from  rock  to  rock,  until  he 
saw  the  tips  of  the  flames  licking  up  into  the 
sky.  He  had  come  up  the  steepest  and  shortest 
side  of  the  ridge,  and  when  he  reached  the  top 

27T 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

he  lay  upon  his  face  for  a  moment,  his  breath 
almost  gone. 

The  fire  was  built  against  a  huge  dead  pine, 
and  the  pine  was  blazing  a  hundred  feet  in 
the  air.  He  could  feel  its  heat.  The  monster 
torch  illumined  the  barren  cap  of  the  rock  from 
edge  to  edge,  and  he  looked  about  him  for 
Jeanne.  For  a  moment  he  did  not  see  her,  and 
her  name  rose  to  his  lips,  to  be  stilled  in  the 
same  breath  by  what  he  saw  beyond  the  burning 
pine.  Through  the  blaze  of  the  heat  and  fire 
he  beheld  Jeanne,  standing  dose  to  the  edge  of 
the  mountain,  gazing  into  the  south  and  west. 
He  called  her  name.  Jeanne  turned  toward  him 
with  a  startled  cry,  and  Phihp  was  at  her  side. 
The  girl's  face  was  white  and  strained.  Her  lips 
were  twisted  in  pain  at  sight  erf  him.  She  spoke 
no  word,  but  a  strange  sound  rose  in  her  throat, 
a  welling-up  of  the  sudden  despair  which  the  fire- 
light revealed  in  her  eyes.  For  one  moment 
they  stood  ap)art,  and  Philip  tried  to  si)eak. 
And  then,  suddenly,  he  reached  out  and  drew  her 
quickly  into  his  arms — so  quickly  that  there  was 
no  time  for  her  to  escaj)e,  so  closely  that  her 
sweet  face  lay  imprisoned  upon  his  breast,  as  he 
had  held  it  once  before,  under  the  picture  at 
Fort  o'  Grod.  He  felt  her  straining  to  free  her- 
self; he  saw  the  fear  in  her  eyes,  and  he  tried 
to  speak  calmly,  while  his  heart  throbbed  with 
the  jmssion  of  love  which  he  wished  to  pour  into 
ber  ears. 

278 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"Listen,  Jeanne,"  he  said.  "Pierre  has  sent 
me  to  you.  He  has  told  me  everything-^every- 
thing,  my  sweetheart.  There  is  nothing  to  keep 
from  me  now.  I  know.  I  understand.  And  I 
love  you— love  you— love  you— my  own  sweet 
Jeanne! 

Sh€  tr^nbled  at  his  words.  He  felt  her  shud- 
dermg  in  his  arms,  and  her  eyes  ga^d  at  him 
wondermgiy,  filled  with  a  strange  and  incredu- 
lous look,  while  her  lips  quivered  and  remained 
speechless.  He  drew  her  nearer,  until  his  face 
was  against  her  own,  and  the  warmth  of  her  lips, 
her  eyes,  and  her  hair  entered  into  him,  and  near 
stifled  his  heart  with  Joy. 

"He  has  told  me  everything,  my  little  Jeanne," 
he  said  again,  in  a  whisper  that  rose  just  above 
the  crackling  of  the  pine.  "Everything.  He 
told  me  because  he  knew  that  I  loved  you,  and 
because — " 

The  words  choked  in  his  throat.  At  this  hesi- 
tation Jeanne  drew  her  head  back,  and,  with  her 
hands  pressing  a^amst  his  breast,  looked  into 
his  face.  There  were  in  her  eyes  the  same 
struggling  emotions,  but  with  them  now  there 
came  also  a  sweet  faltering,  a  piteous  appeal  to 
him,  a  faith  that  rose  above  her  terrors,  and  the 
tremble  of  her  lips  was  like  that  of  a  crying  child. 
He  drew  her  face  back,  and  kissed  the  quivering 
lips,  and  suddenly  he  felt  the  strain  against  him 
give  way,  and  Jeanne's  head  sobbed  upon  his 
breast.     In   that   moment,   looking   where  the 

279 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

roaring  pine  sent  its  pinnacles  of  flame  leaping 
up  into  the  night,  a  word  of  thanks,  of  prayer, 
rose  mutely  to  his  lips,  and  he  held  Jeanne  more 
closely,  and  whispered  over  and  over  again  in 
his  happiness,  "Jeanne — ^Jeanne — my  sweet- 
heart Jeanne/* 

Jeanne's  sobs  grew  less  and  less,  and  Philip 
strengthened  himself  to  tell  her  the  terrible  news 
of  Pierre.  He  knew  that  in  the  selfishness  of 
his  own  joy  he  had  already  wasted  precious 
minutes,  and  very  gently  he  took  Jeanne's  wet 
face  between  his  two  hands  and  turned  it  a  little 
toward  his  own. 

"Pierre  has  told  me  everything,  Jeanne,"  he 
repeated.  "Everything — from  the  day  he  found 
you  many  years  ago  to  the  day  your  father  re- 
turned to  torture  you."  He  spoke  calmly,  even 
as  he  felt  her  shiver  in  pain  against  him.  "To- 
night there  was  a  little  trouble  down  in  the  camp, 
dear.  Pierre  is  wounded,  and  wants  you  to 
come  to  him.     Thorpe — is — dead.'* 

For  an  instant  Philip  was  frightened  at  what 
happened.  Jeanne's  breath  ceased.  There  seemed 
to  be  not  a  quiver  of  life  in  her  body,  and  she  lay  in 
his  arms  as  if  dead.  And  then,  suddenly,  there 
came  from  her  a  terrible  cry,  and  she  wrenched 
herself  free,  and  stood  a  step  from  him,  her  face 
as  white  as  death. 

"He— is— dead— ** 

"Yes,  he  is  dead." 

"And  Pierre — Pierre  killed  him?** 

280 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Philip  held  out  his  arms,  but  Jeanne  did  not 
seem  to  see  th«n.  She  saw  the  answer  in  his 
face. 

"And — ^Pierre — ^is — ^hurt — "  she  went  on,  never 
taking  her  wide,  luminous  eyes  from  his  face. 

Before  he  answered  Philip  took  her  trembling 
hands  in  his  own,  as  though  he  would  lighten  the 
blow  by  the  warmth  and  touch  of  his  great  love. 

"Yes,  he  is  hurt,  Jeanne,"  he  said.  "We  must 
hurry,  for  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  time  to  lose.** 

"He  is-<iying?" 

"I  fear  so,  Jeanne." 

He  turned  before  the  look  that  came  into  her 
face,  and  led  her  about  the  circle  of  fire  to  the 
side  of  the  mountain  that  sloped  down  into  the 
plain.  Suddenly  Jeanne  stopped  for  an  instant. 
Her  fingers  tightened  about  his.  Her  face  was 
turned  back  into  the  endless  desolation  of  night 
and  forest  that  lay  to  the  south  and  west.  Far 
out — a  mile — two  miles — an  answering  fire  was 
breaking  the  black  curtain  that  hid  all  things 
beyond  them.  Jeanne  lifted  her  face  to  him. 
Grief  and  love,  pain  and  joy,  shone  in  her  eyes. 

"They  are  there!"  she  said,  chokingly.  "It 
is  Sachigo,  and  they  are  coming — coming — 
coming — " 

Once  again  before  they  began  the  descent  of 
the  mountain  Philip  drew  her  close  in  his  arms, 
and  kissed  her.  And  this  time  there  was  the 
sweet  surrender  to  him  of  all  things  in  the  tender- 
ness of  Jeanne's  hps.     Silent  in  their  grief,  and 

19  281 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

yet  communing  in  sympathy  and  love  in  the 
firm  dasp  of  their  hands,  they  came  down  the 
mountain,  through  the  thin  spruce  forest,  and 
to  the  Hghted  cabin  where  Pierre  lay  dying. 
MacDougall  was  in  the  room  when  they  entered, 
and  rose  softly,  tiptoeing  into  the  little  oflSce. 
Philip  led  Jeanne  to  Pierre's  side,  and  as  he  bent 
over  him,  and  s5)oke  softly,  the  haK-breed 
opened  his  eyes.  He  saw  Jeanne.  Into  his 
fading  eyes  there  came  a  wonderful  light.  His 
lips  moved,  and  his  hands  strove  to  lift  them- 
selves above  the  crumpled  blanket.  Jeanne 
dropped  upon  her  knees  beside  him,  and  as  she 
clasped  his  chilled  hands  to  her  breast  a  glori- 
ous understanding  lighted  up  her  face;  and  then 
she  took  Pierre's  face  between  her  hands,  and 
bowed  her  own  close  down  to  it,  so  that  the 
two  were  hidden  under  the  beauteous  halo  of 
her  hair.  Philip  gripped  at  his  throat  to  hold 
back  a  sob.  A  terrible  stillness  came  into  the 
room,  and  he  dared  not  move.  It  seemed  a 
long  time  before  Jeanne  lifted  her  head,  slowly, 
tenderly,  as  if  fearing  to  awaken  a  sleeping  child. 
She  turned  to  him,  and  he  read  the  truth  in  her 
face  before  she  had  spoken.  Her  voice  was  low 
and  calm,  filled  with  the  sweetness  and  tender- 
ness and  strength  that  come  only  to  a  woman 
in  the  final  moment  of  a  great  sorrow. 

"  Leave  us,  Philip, ' '  she  said .   ' '  Pierre  is  dead.** 


xxm 

FOR  a  moment  Philip  bowed  his  head,  and 
then  he  turned  and  went  noiselessly  from 
the  room,  without  speaking.  As  he  closed  the 
door  softly  behind  him  he  looked  back,  and  from 
her  attitude  beside  Pierre  he  knew  that  Jeanne 
was  whispering  a  prayer.  A  vision  flashed  be- 
fore him,  so  quick  that  it  had  come  like  a  ray 
of  light — a  vision  of  another  hour,  years  and 
years  ago,  when  Pierre  had  knelt  beside  her,  and 
when  he  had  lifted  up  his  wild,  half-thought 
prayer  out  in  the  death-chill  of  the  snowy  bar- 
rens. And  this  was  his  reward,  to  have  Jeanne 
kneel  beside  him  as  the  soul  which  had  loved  her 
so  faithfully  took  its  flight. 

Philip  could  not  see  when  he  turned  his  face 
to  the  light  of  the  office.  For  the  first  time  the 
grief  which  he  had  choked  back  escaped  in  a 
gasping  break  in  his  voice,  and  he  wiped  his  eyes 
with  his  pocket-handkerchief.  He  knew  that 
MacDougall  was  looking  upon  his  weakness, 
but  he  did  not  at  first  see  that  there  was  another 
person  in  the  room  besides  the  engineer.  This 
second  person  rose  to  meet  him,  while  Mac- 
Pougall  remained  in  his  seat,  and  as  he  came 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

out  into  the  clearer  light  of  the  room  Philip 
could  scarce  believe  his  eyes. 

It  was  Gregson! 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  came  in  just  at  this  time, 
Phil,"  he  greeted,  in  a  low  voice. 

Philip  stared,  still  incredulous.  He  had  never 
seen  Gregson  as  he  looked  now.  The  artist  ad- 
vanced no  farther.  He  did  not  hold  out  his 
hand.  There  was  none  of  the  joy  of  meeting 
in  his  face.  His  eyes  shifted  to  the  door  that 
led  into  the  death-chamber,  and  they  were  filled 
with  the  gloom  of  a  condemned  man.  With  a 
low  word  Philip  held  out  his  hand  to  meet  his 
old  comrade's.     Gregson  drew  back. 

"No — not  now,"  he  said.  "Wait — until  you 
have  heard  me." 

Something  in  his  cold,  passionless  voice 
stopped  Philip.  He  saw  Gregson  glance  tow- 
ard MacDougall,  and  understood  what  he  meant. 
Going  to  the  engineer,  he  placed  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  spoke  so  that  only  he  could 
hear. 

"She  is  in  there,  Mac — with  Pierre.  She 
wanted  to  be  alone  with  him  for  a  few  minutes. 
Will  you  wait  for  her — outside — at  the  door, 
and  take  her  over  to  Cassidy's  wife?  Tell  her 
that  I  will  come  to  her  in  a  little  while." 

He  followed  MacDougall  to  the  door,  speaking 
to  him  in  a  low  voice,  and  then  turned  to 
Gregson.  The  artist  had  seated  himself  at  one 
side  of  the  small  office  table,  and  Ph/lip  sat  down 

284 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

opposite    him,  holding    out  his    hand  to  him 
agam. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Greggy?" 
••This  is  not  a  time  for  long  explanations," 
said   the   artist,   still   holding   back   his   hand. 
1  hey  can  come  later,  Phil.     But  to-night— now 
—you  must  understand  why  I  cannot  shake 
hands  with  you.     We  have  been  friends  for  a 
good  many  years.     In  a  few  mmutes  we  will  be 
enemies— or  you  will  be  mine.     One  thing,  be- 
fore I  go  on,  I  must  ask  of  you.    I  demand  it. 
Whatever  passes  between  us  during  the  next  ten 
minutes,  say  no  word  against  Eileen  Brokaw. 
I  will  say  what  you  might  say— that  for  a  time 
her  soul  wandered,  and  was  almost  lost.     But 
it  has  come  back  to  her,  strong  and  pure.     I  love 
her.     Some  strange  fate  has  ordained  that  she 
should  love  me,  worthless  as  I  am.     She  is  to 
be  my  wife." 
Philip's  hand  was  still  across  the  table. 
"Greggy— Greggy— God  bless  you!"  he  cried, 
softly.     "I  know  what  it  is  to  love,  and  to  be 
loved.     Why  should  I  be  your  enemy  because 
Eileen  Brokaw's  heart  has  turned  to  gold,  and 
she  has  given  it  to  you.?     Greggy,  shake!" 

"Wait,"  said  Gregson,  huskily.  "Phil,  you 
are  breaking  my  heart.  Listen.  You  got  my 
note?  But  I  did  not  desert  you  so  abominably. 
I  made  a  discovery  that  last  night  of  yours  in 
Churchill.  I  went  to  Eileen  Brokaw,  and  to- 
morrow— ^some  time — ^if  you  care  I  will  tell  you 

285 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

of  all  that  happened.  First  you  must  know  this. 
I  have  found  the  'power'  that  is  fighting  you 
down  below.  I  have  found  the  man  who  is 
behind  the  plot  to  ruin  your  company,  the  man 
who  is  responsible  for  Thorpe's  crimes,  the  man 
who  is  responsible — ^for — that — ^in — ^there." 

He  leaned  across  the  table  and  pointed  to  the 
closed  door. 

"And  that  man — " 

For  a  moment  he  seemed  to  choke. 

"Is  Brokaw,  the  father  of  my  affianced  wife!'* 

"Good  God!"  cried  Philip.  "Gregson,  are 
you  mad?" 

"I  was  almost  mad,  when  I  first  made  the  dis- 
covery," said  Gregson,  as  cold  as  ice.  "But  I 
am  sane  now.  His  scheme  was  to  have  the 
government  annul  your  provisional  license. 
Thorpe  and  his  men  were  to  destroy  this  camp, 
and  kill  you.  The  money  on  hand  from  stock, 
over  six  hundred  thousand  dollars,  would  have 
gone  into  Brokaw's  pockets.  There  is  no  need 
of  further  detail — now — for  you  can  under- 
stand. He  Imew  Thorpe,  and  secured  him  as 
his  agent.  It  was  merely  a  whim  of  Thorpe's 
to  take  the  name  of  Lord  Fitzhugh  instead  of 
something  less  conspicuous.  Three  months  be- 
fore Brokaw  came  to  Churchill  he  wished  to  get 
detailed  instructions  to  Thorpe  which  he  dared 
not  trust  to  a  wilderness  mail  service.  He  could 
find  no  messenger  whom  he  dared  trust.  So  he 
sent  Eileen.     She  was  at  Fort  o'  God  for  a  week. 

286 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Then  she  came  to  Churchill,  where  we  saw  her. 
The  scheme  was  that  Brokaw  should  bribe  the 
ship's  captain  to  run  close  into  Blind  Eskimo 
Point,  at  night,  and  signal  to  Thorpe  and  Eileen, 
who  would  be  waiting.  It  worked,  and  Eileen 
and  Thorpe  came  on  with  the  ship.  At  the 
landing — ^you  remember — ^Eileen  was  met  by 
the  girl  from  Fort  o'  God.  In  order  not  to  be- 
tray herself  to  you  she  refused  to  recognize  her. 
Later  she  told  her  father,  and  Thorpe  and 
Brokaw  saw  in  it  an  opportunity  to  strike  a  first 
blow.  Brokaw  had  brought  two  men  whom  he 
could  trust,  and  Thorp>e  had  four  or  five  others 
at  Churchill.  The  attack  on  the  cliff  followed, 
the  object  being  to  kill  the  man,  but  take  the 
girl  unharmed.  A  messenger  was  to  take  the 
news  of  what  happened  to  Fort  o'  God,  and  lay 
the  crime  to  men  who  had  run  up  to  Churchill 
from  your  camp.  Chance  favored  you  that  night, 
and  you  spoiled  their  plan.  Chance  favored 
me,  and  I  found  Eileen.  It  is  useless  for  me  to 
go  into  detail  as  to  what  happened  after  that, 
except  to  say  this — that  Eileen  knew  nothing 
of  the  proposed  attack,  that  she  was  ignorant 
of  the  heinousness  of  the  plot  against  you,  and 
that  she  was  almost  as  much  a  tool  of  her  father 
as  you.     Phil — " 

For  the  first  time  there  came  a  pleading  light 
into  Gregson's  eyes  as  he  leaned  across  the  table. 

"Phil,  if  it  wasn't  for  Eileen  I  would  not  be 
here.     I  thought  that  she  would  kili  herself  when 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

I  told  her  as  much  of  the  story  as  I  knew.  She 
told  me  what  she  had  done;  she  confessed  for 
her  father.  In  that  hour  of  her  agony  I  could 
not  keep  back  my  love.  We  plotted.  I  forged 
a  letter,  and  made  it  possible  to  accompany 
Brokaw  and  Eileen  up  the  Churchill.  It  was 
not  my  purpose  to  join  you,  and  so  Eileen  pro- 
fessed to  be  taken  ill.  We  camped,  back  from 
the  river,  and  I  sent  our  two  Indians  back  to 
Churchill,  for  Eileen  and  I  wished  to  be  alone 
with  Brokaw  in  the  terrible  hour  that  was  com- 
ing. That  is  all.  Everything  is  revealed.  I  have 
come  to  yeu  as  quickly  as  I  could,  to  find  that 
Thorpe  is  dead.  In  my  own  selfishness  I  would 
have  shielded  Brokaw,  arguing  that  he  could 
pay  Thorpe,  and  work  honorably  henceforth. 
You  would  never  have  known.  It  is  Eileen  who 
makes  this  confession,  not  I.  Phil,  her  last 
words  to  me  were  these:  *You  love  me.  Then 
you  will  tell  him  all  this.  Only  after  this,  if  he 
shows  us  a  mercy  which  we  do  not  deserve, 
can  I  be  your  wife.' 

"  There  is  only  one  other  thing  to  add.  I  have 
shown  Brokaw  a  ray  of  hope.  He  will  hand 
over  to  you  all  his  rights  in  the  company  and 
the  six  hundred  thousand  in  the  treasury.  He 
will  sign  over  to  you,  as  repurchase  money  for 
whatever  stock  you  wish  to  call  in,  practically 
his  whole  fortune — five  hundred  thousand.  He 
will  disappear,  completely  and  forever.  Eileen 
and  I  will  hunt  out  our  own  little  corner  in  a  new 

288 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

world,  and  you  will  never  hear  of  us  again.  This 
is  what  we  have  planned  to  do,  if  you  show 
us  mercy." 

Philip  had  not  spoken  during  Gregson's  ter- 
rible recital.  He  sat  like  one  turned  to  stone. 
Rage,  wonder,  and  horror  burned  so  fiercely  in 
his  heart  that  they  consumed  all  evidence  of 
emotion.  And  to  arouse  him  now  there  came 
an  interruption  that  sent  the  blood  flushing  back 
into  his  face — a  low  knock  at  the  closed  door, 
a  slow  lifting  of  the  latch,  the  appearance  of 
Jeanne.  Through  her  tears  she  saw  only  the 
man  she  loved,  and  sobbing  aloud  now,  like  a 
child,  she  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him;  and 
when  he  sprang  to  her  and  caught  her  to  his 
breast,  she  whispered  his  name  again  and  again, 
and  stroked  his  face  with  her  hands.  Love, 
overpowering,  breathing  of  heaven,  was  in  her 
touch,  and  as  she  lifted  her  face  to  him  of  her 
own  sweet  will  now,  entreating  him  to  kiss  her 
and  to  comfort  her  for  what  she  had  lost,  he 
saw  Gregson  moving  with  bowed  head,  like  a 
stricken  thing,  toward  the  outer  door.  In  that 
moment  the  things  that  had  been  in  his  heart 
melted  away,  and  raising  a  hand  above  his  head, 
he  called,  softly: 

"Tom  Gregson,  my  old  chum,  if  you  have 
found  a  love  like  this,  thank  your  God.  My 
own  love  I  would  lose  if  I  destroyed  yours.  Go 
back  to  Eileen.  Tell  Brokaw  that  I  accept 
his  offers.     And  when    you    come  back  in  a 

889 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

few  days,  bring  EUeen.    My  Jeanne  will  love 
her." 

And  Jeanne,  looking  from  Philip's  face,  saw 
Gregson,  for  the  first  time,  as  he  passed  through 
the  door. 


XXIV 

BOTH  Philip  and  Jeanne  were  silent  for  some 
moments  after  Gregson  had  gone;  their 
only  movement  was  the  gentle  stroking  of  Philip's 
hand  over  the  girl's  soft  hair.  Their  hearts  were 
full,  too  full  for  speech.  And  yet  he  knew  that 
upon  his  strength  depended  everything  now. 
The  revelations  of  Gregson,  which  virtually  ended 
the  fight  against  him  personally,  were  but  trivial 
in  his  thoughts  compared  with  the  ordeal  which 
was  ahead  of  Jeanne.  Both  Pierre  and  her  father 
were  dead,  and,  with  the  exception  of  Jeanne,  no 
one  but  he  knew  of  the  secret  that  had  died  with 
them.  He  could  feel  against  him  the  throbbing 
of  the  storm  that  was  passing  in  the  girl's  heart, 
and  m  answer  to  it  he  said  nothing  in  words, 
but  held  her  to  him  with  a  gentleness  that  lifted 
her  face,  quiet  and  beautiful,  so  that  her  eyes 
looked  steadily  and  questioningly  into  his  own. 

"You  love  me,"  she  said,  simply,  and  yet  with 
a  calmness  that  sent  a  curious  thrill  through  him. 
,    "Beyond  all  else  in  the  world,"  he  replied. 

She  still  looked  at  him,  without  speaking,  as 
though  through  his  eyes  she  was  searching  to 
the  bottom  of  his  soul. 

291 


FLOWER   OF    THE   NORTH 

"And  you  know,"  she  whispered,  after  a 
moment. 

He  drew  her  so  close  she  could  not  move,  and 
crushed  his  face  down  against  her  own. 

"Jeanne — ^Jeanne — everything  is  as  it  should 
be,"  he  said.  "I  am  glad  that  you  were  found 
out  in  the  snows.  I  am  glad  that  the  woman 
in  the  picture  was  your  mother.  I  would  have 
nothing  different  than  it  is,  for  if  things  were 
different  you  would  not  be  the  Jeanne  that  I 
know,  and  I  would  not  love  you  so.  You  have 
suffered,  sweetheart.  And  I,  too,  have  had  my 
share  of  sorrow.  God  has  brought  us  together, 
and  all  is  right  in  the  end.  Jeanne — my  sweet 
Jeanne — " 

Gregson  had  left  the  outer  door  slightly  ajar 
A  gust  of  wind  opened  it  wider.  Through  it 
there  came  now  a  sound  that  interrupted  the 
words  on  Philip's  lips,  and  sent  a  sudden  quiver 
through  Jeanne.  In  an  instant  both  recognized 
the  sound.  It  was  the  firing  of  rifles,  the  shots 
coming  to  them  faintly  from  far  beyond  the 
mountain  at  the  end  of  the  lake.  Moved  by  the 
same  impulse,  they  ran  to  the  door,  hand  in 
hand. 

"It  is  Sachigo!"  panted  Jeanne.  She  could 
hardly  speak.  She  seemed  to  struggle  to  get 
breath.    ''I  had  forgotten.    They  are  fighting— ** 

MacDougall  strode  up  from  his  post  beside 
the  door,  where  he  had  been  waiting  for  the  ap- 
pearance of  Jeanne. 

892 


FLOWER   OP    THE    NORTH 

"Firing— off  there,"  he  said.  "What  does  !t 
mean?** 

"We  must  wait  and  see,"  replied  Philip. 
"Send  two  of  your  men  to  investigate,  Mac.  I 
will  rejoin  you  after  I  have  taken  Miss  d'Arcam- 
bal  over  to  Cassidy's  wife.'* 

He  moved  away  quickly  with  Jeanne.  On  a 
sudden  rise  of  the  wind  from  the  south  the  firing 
came  to  them  more  distinctly.  Then  it  died 
away,  and  ended  in  three  or  four  intermittent 
shots.  For  the  space  of  a  dozen  seconds  a 
strange  stillness  followed,  and  then  over  the 
mountain  top,  where  there  was  still  a  faint 
glow  in  the  sky,  there  came  the  low,  quavering, 
triumphal  cry  of  the  Crees:  a  cry  born  of  the 
forest  itself,  mournful  even  in  its  joy,  only  half 
human — almost  like  a  far-away  burst  of  tongue 
from  a  wolf  pack  on  the  hunt  trail.  And  after 
that  there  was  an  unbroken  silence. 

"It  is  over,"  breathed  Philip. 

He  felt  Jeanne's  fingers  tighten  about  his  own. 

"No  one  will  ever  know,"  he  continued. 
"Even  MacDougall  will  not  guess  what  has 
happened  out  there — to-night." 

He  stopped  a  dozen  paces  from  Cassidy's 
cabin.  The  windows  were  aglow,  and  they  could 
hear  the  laughter  and  play  of  Cassidy's  two 
children  within.  Gently  he  drew  Jeanne  to 
him. 

"You  will  stay  here  to-night,  dear,*'  he  said. 
**  To-morrow  we  will  go  to  Fort  o'  God.** 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"You  must  take  me  home  to-night,"  whis- 
pered Jeanne,  looking  up  into  his  face.  "I  must 
go,  Philip.  Send  some  one  with  me,  and  you 
3an  come — in  the  morning — with  Pierre — '* 

She  put  her  hand  to  his  face  again,  in  the 
sweet  touch  that  told  more  of  her  love  than  a 
thousand  words. 

"You  understand,  dear,"  she  went  on,  seeing 
the  anxiety  in  his  eyes.  "I  have  the  strength — - 
to-night.  I  must  return  to  father,  and  he  wiQ 
know  everything — ^when  you  come  to  Fort  o' 
God." 

"I  will  send  MacDougall  with  you,"  said 
Philip,  after  a  moment.  "And  then  I  will 
foUow— " 

"With  Pierre." 

"Yes,  with  Pierre." 

For  a  brief  space  longer  they  stood  outside 
of  Cassidy's  cabin,  and  then  Philip,  lifting  her 
face,  said  gently: 

"  Will  you  kiss  me,  dear.^    It  is  the  first  time.** 

He  bent  down,  and  Jeanne's  lips  reached  hig 
own. 

"No,  it  is  not  the  first  time,"  she  confessed, 
in  a  whisper.  "Not  since  that  day — when  I 
thought  you  were  dying — ^after  we  came  through 
the  rapids — " 

Five  minutes  later  Philip  returned  to  Mac- 
Dougall. Roberts,  Henshaw,  Cassidy,  and  Le- 
cault  were  with  the  engineer. 

£84 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"I've  sent  the  St.  Pierres  to  find  out  about 
the  firing,"  he  said.  "Look  at  the  crowd  over 
at  the  store.  Every  one  heard  it,  and  they've 
seen  the  fire  on  the  mountain.  They  think  the 
Lidians  have  cornered  a  moose  or  two  and  are 
shooting  them  by  the  blaze." 

"They're  probably  right,"  said  Philip.  "I 
want  a  word  with  you,  Mac." 

He  walked  a  httle  aside  with  the  engineer, 
leaving  the  others  in  a  group,  and  in  a  low  voice 
told  him  as  much  as  he  cared  to  reveal  about 
the  identity  of  Thorp>e  and  Gregson's  mission 
in  camp.     Then  he  spoke  of  Jeanne. 

"I  believe  that  the  death  of  Thorpe  practi- 
cally ends  all  danger  to  us,"  he  concluded.  "I'm 
going  to  offer  you  a  pleasanter  job  than  fighting, 
Mac.  It  is  imp>erative  that  Miss  d'Arcambal 
should  return  to  D'Arcambal  House  before  morn- 
ing, and  I  want  you  to  take  her,  if  you  will. 
I'm  choosing  the  best  man  I've  got  because — • 
well,  because  she's  going  to  be  my  wife,  Mac 
I'm  the  happiest  man  on  earth  to-night!'* 

MacDougall  did  not  show  surprise. 

"Guessed  it,"  he  said,  shortly,  thrusting  out 

,a  hand  and  grinning  broadly  into  Philip's  facCo 

"Couldn't  help  from  seeing,  Phil.     And  the  fir« 

ing,  and  Thorpe,  and  that  half-breed  in  there — ** 

Understanding  was  slowly  illuminating  his 
face. 

"You'll  know  all  about  them  a  little  later, 
Mac,"  said  Philip  softly.     "To-night  we  mast 

285 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

investigate  nothing — very  far.  Miss  d'Arcam* 
bal  must  be  taken  home  immediately.  Will 
you  go.^* 

"With  pleasure." 

"She  can  ride  one  of  the  horses  as  far  as  the 
Little  Churchill,"  contmued  Philip.  "And  there 
she  will  show  you  a  canoe.  I  will  follow  in  the 
morning  with  the  body  of  Pierre,  the  half- 
breed." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  MacDougall  and 
Jeanne  set  out  over  the  river  trail,  leaving  Philip 
standing  behind,  watching  them  until  they  were 
hidden  in  the  night.  It  was  fully  an  hour  later 
before  the  St.  Pierres  returned.  Philip  was  im- 
easy  until  the  two  dark-faced  hunters  came  mto 
the  little  office  and  leaned  their  rifles  against  the 
wall.  He  had  feared  that  Sachigo  might  have 
left  some  trace  of  his  ambush  behind.  But  the 
St.  Pierres  had  discovered  nothing,  and  could 
give  only  one  reason  for  the  burning  pine  on  the 
summit  of  the  mountain.  They  agreed  that 
Indians  had  fired  it  to  frighten  moose  from  a 
thick  cover  to  the  south  and  west,  and  that  their 
hunt  had  been  a  failure. 

It  was  midnight  before  Philip  relaxed  his  cau- 
tion, which  he  maintained  until  then  in  spite 
of  his  belief  that  Thorpe's  men,  under  Blake, 
had  met  a  quick  finish  at  the  hands  of  Sachigo 
and  his  ambushed  braves.  His  men  left  for 
their  cabins,  with  the  exception  of  Cassidy,  whom 
he  asked  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  night 

296 


FLOWER   OF   THE    NORTH 

in  one  of  the  oflSce  bunks.  Alone  he  went  in  to 
prepare  Pierre  for  his  last  journey  to  Fort  o* 
God. 

A  lamp  was  burning  low  beside  the  bunk  in 
which  Pierre  lay.  Philip  approached  and  turned 
the  wick  higher,  and  then  he  gazed  in  wonder 
upon  the  transfiguration  in  the  half-breed's  face. 
Pierre  had  died  with  a  smile  on  his  lips;  and 
with  a  curious  thickening  in  his  throat  Philip 
thought  that  those  lips,  even  in  death,  were 
curved  in  the  act  of  whispering  Jeanne'e  name. 
It  aeemed  to  him,  as  he  stood  in  silence  for  many 
moments,  that  Pierre  was  not  dead,  but  that 
he  was  sleeping  a  quiet,  unbreathing  sleep,  in 
which  there  came  to  him  visions  of  the  great 
love  for  which  he  had  offered  up  his  life  and  his 
soul.  Jeanne's  hands,  in  his  last  moments,  had 
stilled  all  pain.  Peace  slumbered  in  the  pale 
shadows  of  his  closed  eyes.  The  Great  God  of 
his  faith  had  come  to  him  in  his  hour  of  greatest 
need  on  earth,  and  he  had  passed  away  into  the 
Valley  of  Silent  Men  on  the  sweet  breath  of 
Jeanne's  prayers.  The  girl  had  crossed  his 
hands  upon  his  breast.  She  had  brushed  back 
his  long  hair.  Philip  knew  that  she  had  im- 
printed a  kiss  upon  the  silent  lips  before  the  soul 
had  fled,  and  in  the  warmth  and  knowledge  of 
that  kiss  Pierre  had  died  happy. 
And  Philip,  brokenly,  said  aloud: 
"God  bless  you,  Pierre,  old  man!'* 
He  lifted  the  cold  hands  back,  and  gently  drew 
20  «97 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

the  covers  which  had  hidden  the  telltale  stains 
of  death  from  Jeanne's  eyes.     He  turned  down 
Pierre's  shirt,  and  in  the  lamp-glow  there  glis- 
tened the  golden  locket.     For  the  first  time  he 
noticed  it  closely.     It  was  half  as  large  as  the 
palm  of  his  hand,  and  very  thin,  and  he  saw  that 
it  was  bent  and  twisted.     A  shudder  ran  through 
him  when  he  understood  what  had  happened. 
The  bullet  that  had  killed  Pierre  had  first  struck 
the  locket,  and  had  burst  it  partly  open.     He 
took  it  in  his  hand.     And  then  he  saw  that 
through  the  broken   side  there  protruded   the 
end  of  a  bit  of  paper.     For  a  brief  space  the  dis- 
covery made  him  almost  forget  the  presence  of 
death.     Pierre  had  never  opened  the  locket,  be- 
cause it  was  of  the  old-fashioned  kind  that  locked 
with  a  key,  and  the  key  was  gone.     And  the 
locket  had  been  about  Jeanne's  neck  when  he 
found  her  out  m  the  snows !     Was  it  possible  that 
this  bit  of  paper  had  something  to  do  with  the 
girl  he  loved? 

Carefully,  so  that  it  would  not  tear,  he  drew 
it  forth.  There  was  writing  on  the  paper,  as 
he  had  expected,  and  he  read  it,  bent  low  beside 
the  lamp.  The  date  was  nearly  eighteen  years 
old.  The  lines  were  faint.  The  words  were 
these: 

My  Husband, — God  can  never  undo  what  I  have 
done.  I  have  dragged  myself  back,  repentant,  lov- 
ing you  more  than  I  have  ever  loved  you  in  my  Ufe, 
to  leave  our  little  girl  with  you.    She  is  your  daughter, 

298 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

and  mine.  She  was  bom  on  the  eighth  day  of  Sepw 
tember,  the  seventh  month  after  I  left  Fort  o'  God. 
She  is  yom-s,  and  so  I  bring  her  back  to  you,  with  the 
prayer  that  she  will  help  to  fill  the  true  and  noble; 
heart  that  I  have  broken.  I  cannot  ask  your  for- 
giveness, for  I  do  not  deserve  it.  I  cannot  let  you 
see  me,  for  I  should  kill  myself  at  your  feet.  I  have 
Uved  this  long  only  for  the  baby.  I  will  leave  her 
where  you  cannot  fail  to  find  her,  and  by  the  time 
you  have  read  this  I  will  have  answered  for  my  sin 
— my  madness,  if  you  can  u.  charity  regard  it  so. 
And  if  God  is  kind  I  will  hover  about  you  always, 
and  you  will  know  that  in  death  the  old  sweetheart, 
and  the  mother,  has  found  what  she  could  never  again 

hope  for  in  life.  ,,         „. 

^  YouB  Wife. 

Philip  rose  slowly  erect  and  gazed  down  into 
the  still,  tranquil  face  of  Pierre,  the  half-breed. 

"Why  didn't  you  open  it.''"  he  whispered. 
"Why  didn't  you  open  it?  My  God,  what  it 
would  have  saved — " 

For  a  full  minute  he  looked  down  at  Pieire,  as 
though  he  expected  that  the  white  lips  would 
move  and  answer  him.  And  then  he  thought 
of  Jeanne  hurrying  to  Fort  o'  God,  and  of  the 
terrible  things  which  she  was  to  reveal  to  her 
father  that  night.  She  was  D'Arcambal's  own 
daughter.  What  pain — what  agony  of  father 
and  child  he  might  have  saved  if  he  had  examined 
the  locket  a  little  sooner!  He  looked  at  his  watch 
and  found  that  Jeanne  had  been  gone  three  hours. 
It  would  be  impossible  to  overtake  MacDougalJ 

290 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

and  the  girl  unless  something  had  occurred  to 
delay  them  somewhere  along  the  trail.  He  hur* 
ried  back  into  the  little  room,  where  he  had  l^t 
Cassidy.  In  a  few  words  he  explained  that  it 
was  nec^sary  for  him  to  follow  Jeanne  and  the 
engineer  to  D'Arcambal  House  without  a  mo- 
ment's delay,  and  he  directed  Cassidy  to  take 
charge  of  camp  affairs,  and  to  send  Pierre's  body 
with  a  suitable  escort  the  next  day. 

"  It  isn't  necessar  for  me  to  tell  you  what  to 
do,"  he  finished.     "You  understand." 

Cassidy  nodded.  Six  months  before  he  had 
buried .  his  youngest  child  under  a  big  spruce 
back  of  his  cabin. 

Philip  hastened  to  the  stables,  and,  choosing 
one  of  the  lighter  animals,  was  soon  galloping 
over  the  trail  toward  the  Little  Churchill.  In 
his  face  there  blew  a  cold  wind  from  Hudson's 
Bay,  and  now  and  then  he  felt  the  sting  of  fine 
particles  in  his  eyes.  They  were  the  presage  of 
storm.  A  shifting  of  the  wind  a  little  to  the 
east  and  south,  and  the  fine  particles  would 
thicken,  and  turn  into  snow.  By  morning  the 
world  would  be  white.  He  came  into  the 
forests  beyond  the  plain,  and  in  the  sprmce  and 
the  cedar  tops  the  wind  was  half  a  gale,  filling 
the  night  with  wailing  and  moaning  sounds  that 
sent  strange  shivers  through  him  as  he  thought 
of  Pierre  in  the  cabin.  In  such  a  way,  he  im- 
agined, had  the  north  wind  swept  across  the  cold 
barrens  on  the  night  that  Pierre  had  found  the 

300 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

woman  and  the  babe;  and  now  it  seemed,  in  his 
fancies,  as  though  above  and  about  him  the  great 
hand  that  had  guided  the  half-breed  then  was 
bringing  back  the  old  night,  as  if  Pierre,  in  dying, 
had  wished  it  so.  For  the  wind  changed.  The 
fine  particles  thickened,  and  changed  to  snow. 
And  then  there  was  no  longer  the  wailing  and 
the  moaning  in  the  tree-tops,  but  the  soft  mur- 
mur of  a  white  deluge  that  smothered  him  in  a 
strange  gloom  and  hid  the  trail.  There  were 
two  canoes  concealed  at  the  end  of  the  trail  on 
the  Little  Churchill,  and  Philip  chose  the  smallest. 
He  followed  swiftly  after  MacDougali  and 
Jeanne.  He  could  no  longer  see  either  side  of 
the  stream,  and  he  was  filled  with  a  fear  that 
he  might  pass  the  little  creek  that  led  to  Fort  o' 
God.  He  timed  himself  by  his  watch,  and  when 
he  had  paddled  for  two  hours  he  ran  in  close  to 
the  west  shore,  traveling  so  slowly  that  he  did 
not  progress  a  mile  in  half  an  hour.  And  then 
suddenly,  from  close  ahead,  there  rose  through 
the  snow-gloom  the  dismal  howl  of  a  dog,  which 
told  him  that  he  was  near  to  Fort  o*  God.  He 
found  the  black  opening  that  marked  the  en- 
trance to  the  creek,  and  when  he  ran  upon  the 
sand-bar  a  hundred  yards  beyond  he  saw  lights 
burning  in  the  great  room  where  he  had  first  seen 
D'Arcambal.  He  went  now  whire  Pierre  had 
led  him  that  night,  and  found  the  door  unlocked. 
He  entered  silently,  and  passed  down  the  darik 
hall  until,  cm  \iv  l^t,  he  saw  a  glow  of  light  that 

801 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

came  from  the  big  room.  Something  in  the  si- 
lence that  was  ahead  of  him  made  his  own 
approach  without  somid,  and  softly  he  entered 
through  the  door. 

In  the  great  chair  sat  the  master  of  Fort  o' 
God,  his  gray  head  bent;  at  his  feet  knelt  Jeanne, 
and  so  close  were  they  that  D'Arcambal's  face 
was  hidden  in  Jeanne's  shining,  disheveled  hair. 
No  sooner  had  Philip  entered  the  room  than  his 
presence  seemed  to  arouse  the  older  man.  He 
lifted  his  head  slowly,  looking  toward  the  door, 
and  when  he  ^iw  who  stood  there  he  raised  one 
of  his  arms  from  about  the  girl  and  held  it  out 
to  Philip. 

"My  son!"  he  said. 

In  a  moment  Philip  was  upon  his  knees  be- 
side Jeanne,  and  one  of  D'Arcambal's  heavy 
hands  fell  upon  his  shoulder  in  a  touch  that  tc^d 
him  he  had  come  too  late  to  keep  back  any  part 
of  the  terrible  story  which  Jeanne  had  bared  to 
him.  "The  girl  did  not  speak  when  she  saw  him 
beside  her.  It  was  as  if  she  had  expected  him 
to  come,  and  her  hand  found  his  and  nestled 
in  it,  as  cold  as  ice. 

"I  have  hurried  from  the  camp,"  he  said.  "1 
tried  to  overtake  Jeanne.  About  Pierre's  neck 
I  found  a  locket,  and  in  the  locket — was  this — " 

He  looked  into  D'Arcambal's  haggard  face  as 
he  gave  him  the  blood-stained  note,  and  he  knew 
that  in  the  moment  that  was  to  come  the  master 
of  Fort  o'  God  and  his  daughter  shoul(^  be  -aloufi^ 

302 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

"I  will  wait  in  the  portrait-room,"  he  said,  in 
a  low  voice,  and  as  he  rose  to  his  feet  he  pressed 
Jeanne's  hand  to  his  lips. 

The  old  room  was  as  he  had  left  it  weeks  be- 
fore. The  picture  of  Jeanne's  mother  still  hung 
with  its  face  to  the  wall.  There  was  the  same 
elusive  movement  of  the  portrait  over  the  volume 
of  warm  air  that  rose  from  the  floor.  In  this 
room  he  seemed  to  breathe  again  the  presence 
of  a  warm  spirit  of  life,  as  he  had  felt  it  on  the 
first  night  —  a  spirit  that  seemed  to  him  to 
be  a  part  of  Jeanne  herself,  and  he  thought 
of  the  last  words  of  the  wife  and  mother — of 
her  promise  to  remain  always  near  those  whom 
she  loved,  to  regain  after  death  the  companion- 
ship which  she  could  never  hope  for  in  life.  And 
then  there  came  to  him  a  thought  of  the  vast 
and  wonderful  mystery  of  death,  and  he  won- 
dered if  it  was  her  spirit  that  had  been 
with  him  more  than  one  lonely  night,  when  his 
camp-fire  was  low;  if  it  was  her  pres«ice  that 
had  filled  him  with  transcendent  dreams  of  hopje 
and  love,  coming  to  him  that  night  beside  the 
fock  at  Churchill,  and  leading  him  at  last  to 
Jeanne,  for  whom  she  had  given  up  her  life.  He 
heard  again  the  rising  of  the  wind  outside  and 
the  beating  of  the  storm  against  the  window,  and 
he  went  softly  to  see  if  his  vision  could  penetrate 
into  the  white,  ttvisting  gloom  beyond  the  glass. 
For  many  minutes  he  stood,  seeing  nothing. 
And  then  he  heard  a  sound,  and  turned  to  see 

908 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Jeanne  and  her  father  standing  in  the  door. 
Glory  was  in  the  face  of  the  master  of  Fort  o' 
God.     He  seemed  not  to  see  Philip— he  seemed 
to  see  nothing  but  the  picture  that  was  turned 
agamst  the  wall.     He  strode  across  the  room, 
his  great  shoulders  straightened,  his  shaggy  head 
erect,  and  with  the  pride  of  one  revealing  first 
to  human  eyes  the  masterpiece  of  his  soul  and  life 
he  turned  the  picture  so  that  the  radiant  face  of 
the  wife  and  mother  looked  down  upon  him. 
And  was  it  fancy  that  for  a  fleeting  moment  the 
smile  left  the  beautiful  lips,  and  a  light,  soft  and 
luminous,  pleading  for  love  and  forgiveness,  filled 
the  eyes  of  Jeanne's  mother?    Philip  trembled. 
Jeanne  came  across  to  him  silently,  and  crept 
into  his  arms.     And  then,  slowly,  the  master 
of  Fort  o'  God  turned  toward  them  and  stretched 
out  both  of  his  great  arms. 
"My  chUdren!"  he  laid. 


XXV 

ALL  that  night  the  storm  came  out  of  the 
.  north  and  east.  Hours  after  Jeanne  and 
her  father  had  left  him  Philip  went  quietly  from 
his  room,  passed  down  the  hall,  and  opened  the 
outer  door.  He  could  hear  the  gale  whistling 
over  the  top  of  the  great  rock,  and  moaning  in 
the  spruce  and  cedar  forest,  and  he  closed  the 
door  after  him,  and  buried  himself  in  the  dark- 
ness and  wind.  He  bowed  his  head  to  the  sting- 
ing snow,  which  came  like  blasts  of  steeled  shot, 
and  hurried  into  the  shelter  of  the  Sun  Rock, 
and  stood  there  after  that  listening  to  the  wild- 
ness  of  the  storm  and  the  strange  whistling  of 
the  wind  cutting  itself  to  pieces  far  over  his  head. 
Since  man  had  first  beheld  that  rock  such  storms 
as  this  had  come  and  gone  for  countless  genera- 
tions. Two  hundred  years  and  more  had  passed 
since  Grosellier  first  looked  out  upon  a  wondrous 
world  from  its  summit.  And  yet  this  storm — to- 
night— whistling  and  moaning  about  him,  filling 
all  space  with  its  grief,  its  triumph,  and  its  mad- 
ness, seemed  to  be  for  him — and  for  him  alone. 
His  heart  answered  to  it.  His  soul  trembled  to 
the  marvelous  meaning  of  it.   To-night  this  storm 

S05 


FLOWER    OF    THE    NORTH 

was  his  own.  He  was  a  part  of  a  world  which 
he  would  never  leave.  Here,  beside  the  great 
Sun  Rock  of  the  Crees,  he  had  found  home,  life, 
happiness,  his  God.  Here,  henceforth  through 
all  time,  he  would  live  with  his  beloved  Jeanne, 
dreaming  no  dreams  that  went  beyond  the  peace 
of  the  mountains  and  the  forests.  He  lifted  his 
face  to  where  the  storm  swept  above  him,  and 
for  an  instant  he  fancied  that  high  up  on  the 
ragged  edge  of  the  rock  there  might  have  stood 
Pierre,  with  his  great,  gaping,  hungry  heart, 
filled  with  pain  and  yearning,  staring  off  into 
the  face  of  the  Almighty.  And  he  fancied,  too, 
that  beside  him  there  hovered  the  wife  and 
mother.  And  then  he  looked  to  Fort  o'  God. 
The  lights  were  out.  Quiet,  if  not  sleep,  had 
fallen  upon  all  life  within.  And  it  seemed 
to  Philip,  as  he  went  back  again  through  the 
storm,  that  in  the  moaning  tumult  of  the  night 
there  was  music  instead  of  sadness. 

He  did  not  sleep  until  nearly  morning.  And 
when  he  awoke  he  found  that  the  storm  had 
passed,  and  that  over  a  world  of  spotless  white 
there  had  risen  a  brilliant  sun.  He  looked  out 
from  his  window,  and  saw  the  top  of  the  Sun 
Rock  glistening  in  a  golden  fire,  and  where  the 
forest  trees  had  twisted  and  moaned  there  were 
now  unending  canopies  of  snow,  so  that  it  seemed 
as  though  the  storm,  in  passing,  had  left  behind 
only  light,  and  beauty,  and  happiness  for  all 
living  things. 

806 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

Trembling  with  the  joy  of  this,  Philip  went  to 
his  door,  and  from  the  door  down  the  hall,  and 
where  the  light  of  the  sun  blazed  through  a  win- 
dow near  to  the  great  room  where  he  expected 
to  find  the  master  of  Fort  o'  God,  there  stood 
Jeanne.  And  as  she  heard  him  coming,  and 
turned  toward  him,  all  the  glory  and  beauty  of 
the  wondrous  day  was  in  her  face  and  hair.  Like 
an  angel  she  stood  waiting  for  him,  pale  and  yet 
flushing  a  little,  her  eyes  shining  and  yearning 
for  him,  her  soul  in  the  tremble  of  the  single 
iword  cai  her  sweet  lips. 

"Philip—" 

"Jeanne-" 

No  more — and  yet  against  each  other  their 
hearts  told  what  it  was  futile  for  their  lips  to 
attempt.  They  looked  out  through  the  window. 
Beyond  that  window,  as  far  as  the  vision  could 
reach,  swept  the  barrens,  over  which  Pierre  had 
brought  the  httle  Jeanne.  Something  sobbing 
rose  in  the  girl's  throat.  She  lifted  her  eyes, 
swimming  with  love  and  tears,  to  Philip,  and 
from  his  breast  she  reached  up  both  hands  gently 
to  his  face. 

"They  will  bring  Pierre — ^to-day — "  she  whis- 
pered. 

"Yes— to-day." 

"We  will  bury  him  out  yonder,"  she  said, 
stroking  his  face,  and  he  knew  that  she  meant 
out  in  the  barren,  where  the  mother  lay. 

He  bowed  his  face  close  down  against  hers  to 

807 


FLOWER   OF    THE    NORTH 

hide  the  woman's  weakness  that  was  bringing  a 
misty  film  into  his  eyes.  i 

"You  love  me,"  she  whispered.  "You  lore 
me — love  me — and  you  will  never  take  me* 
away,  but  will  stay  with  me  always.  You  will 
stay  here — dear — in  my  beautiful  world — we 
two — alone — " 

"For  ever  and  for  ever,"  he  murmured. 

They  heard  a  step,  firm  and  vibrant  with  the 
strength  of  a  new  life,  and  they  knew  that  it 
was  the  master  of  Fort  o'  God.  I 

"Always — we  two — ^forever,"  whispered  Philip 
again. 


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